


Far Away Love

by everythingintransit



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Anxiety, Drug Use, M/M, death but its really minor, just weed though, not major just like wild parents, uhh theres like abuse i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-02-26 07:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 52,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13230882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythingintransit/pseuds/everythingintransit
Summary: - In which Ryan is desperate and Brendon is hyper. Since Brendon is obviously incapable of behaving like a normal human being, he's assigned detentions after school in the library, the same library that Ryan hangs out in after school to avoid going home for a little longer."Stick flowers in my wounds, grow a garden in my side."[Based off of the song "Saturday Love" by Angels & Airwaves]





	1. Chapter 1

Ryan's nervous. He hates feeling nervous because of the fake period where he feels okay but then his sweaty palms and flushed face and twisty stomach don't go away so then he convinces himself that there's still something to be worried about even though there's not.

So that's happening.

This time, he thinks he's nervous because he has to walk a different way to school and he's afraid that he's going to be late because he isn't exactly sure how to walk this exact way. He has to walk a different way to school because they're doing some dumb sidewalk construction on the usual street he walks on which is ironic because the creation of a sidewalk is preventing him from walking on the street at all. Ryan had previously decided that he doesn't like walking by construction sites and he'd rather get lost than have to walk by one. School starts in thirty minutes so Ryan has to leave in ten minutes so he has twenty minutes to pick his way through the collection of streets between him and the school.

He's not going to make it.

That thought plants itself in his mind, and he decides that he has to leave right now because he's totally and completely going to get lost. All he can think of is that he is so glad he doesn't live in a big city because if he did he would never ever make it to school. That's stupid, he thinks, because if he lived in a big enough city he could probably take the metro or a bus of some sort but then again he has no control over the way those things work and he can control the way he walks to school. Not much else.

Outside, it smells like earth and the air is heavy with humidity. Ryan sees no other people, no other cars, nothing else. He usually feels calm when he doesn't see any other people in the mornings, which means he can continue his walk in his own comfortable silence without having to talk to anyone. This morning, he's afraid that somehow everyone has suddenly died or it's a national holiday and he will go to school on the wrong day. He pauses at the curb, the division between his lawn and the street, and sprints back inside. There's a big expanse of grass in the front yard, and an even bigger back yard. Sometimes Ryan loves having a lot of land around his house, because it makes him feel more secluded from everyone else but sometimes he's afraid that there could be scary things hiding in the far corners of the lawn, and he gets terrified.

Scrolling around chaotically on the computer, knowing that he's already late to leaving the house, and sees the same big letters that he's checked back for every day.

"FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL - SEPTEMBER 6TH! SEE YOU THEN!!"

It's so painful to look at, the big bold letters written in caps with all the exclamation points behind them. No one is excited about the start of school. Everyone loves summer, well, most people love summer. Everyone except for lonely students and lonely teachers and lonely humans who feel as though their existence at this certain point in time is ultimately useless.

Ryan thinks he's ready to leave again, but wait, no, he has to see if he looks alright. He looks in the bathroom mirror, the bright red walls giving his skin a pinkish tinge. He looks bad. His brown hair is too long and fringes over his face; his dark brown eyes empty and hollow.

It has been a long, lonely summer. Not that Ryan minds the summer being long, but he hasn't done anything. Of course, he had wanted to spend some time outside and once he had lain down out near where the woods were but after about ten minutes he had freaked out and ran back inside. Ryan worries a lot.

There's got to be something wrong with him in the end because sometimes life gets too hard to deal with in ways that shouldn't make it hard, well, here he is, panicking about going to school because it's four minutes past the allotted time that he was supposed to leave at but not leaving because he looks terrible. It's the first day of school, and Ryan doesn't exactly want to impress anyone but he doesn't want to make a fool of himself by looking like a piece of absolute trash, but he looks like a piece of absolute trash and his breath catches and in the end, there is nothing he can do.

So he forces himself to leave, jogging a bit as he leaves because he is most certainly and definitely late, but then he worries that someone might judge him for running so he stops, and just continues at a fast pace down the street. Everything is going fine until he actually gets to where other people are, and he notices that all the other people are adults and such, in their respective cars, going to work.

Ryan is so late.

He debates running again because there was no way he was going to run into class late in front of everyone and having to find a seat with everyone's eyes on him. His anxiety levels are through the roof, and he finds himself nervously pacing down the new street he had to walk down. Everything has gotten too overwhelming, but something stops all of his terrified feelings short.

The house on the corner. It's been there forever, not a new development of any sort, but it's been moved into by new people. Because there's a garden. There hadn't been a garden before. And this garden is full of big, bright yellow and brown sunflowers. Ryan has always liked sunflowers, and he likes them because they're just so hopeful. They're the flowers that turn their backs to everything bad and decide to grow towards the sun, to grow towards the good things, to grow towards the things that really matter.

Ryan wants to be a sunflower.

They smile at him, big smiles on their big brown faces with big yellow petals springing off of them, so happy and bright and alive. Their smiles calm him, and he can't smile back just yet but now he's thinking that maybe this walk to school won't be so bad after all.

\--

Ryan has P.E first thing in the morning and it's the absolute worst thing in the world and he's not late after all because hardly anyone is at school and he realizes that they've set the school start time back by twenty minutes. So, there's that.

It's okay being early for P.E though, because it means he'll just be able to sit in the gym and wait for Patrick to show up. So maybe Ryan doesn't know if he has any classes with Patrick, but he's going to wait for him at the start of any class for the next week just incase he might happen to switch into one of Ryan's classes. It's fine, besides, Ryan has always found out how to manage things by himself.

The gym is empty, or so Ryan thinks, until he hears a voice.

"Ross! How is life?" Ryan recognizes the voice but even if he didn't he would know who it was because nobody else calls anyone else by their last names unless they are Brendon Urie. Brendon calls people who he isn't really close friends with by their last names because he seems to think that it brings him closer to them and makes him seem more amiable, which, Ryan supposes, it does. Brendon has an easily recognizable voice, and when you hear someone's first name being called in the hallway by him, you know that this person is in close relation to Brendon. Which Ryan isn't.

Brendon is sitting directly under the basketball hoop, eating a piece of cake off of a paper plate that is jumping around precariously as Brendon's foot is going a million miles an hour, tapping against the floor. Brendon smiles at Ryan and waves him over. Because there's really no other option, Ryan slowly makes his way over to where Brendon is sitting.

"Same, P.E, huh?" Brendon announces, patting the floor next to him for Ryan to sit down. Ryan sits, bringing his knees up and crossing them in front of his chest.

"Mhm," he answers, thinking about the sunflowers.

"Had a good summer?" Brendon continues, poking at his cake. It's vanilla, with pink frosting. Ryan doesn't know if it looks good or not. He wonders if that's really what Brendon eats for breakfast every morning. Ryan nods, because there really isn't anything else to say when someone asks about his summer and his summer hasn't been good.

"How was yours?" He asks quietly, biting it back as soon as he spoke it because Josh has arrived and Brendon hasn't heard him. Josh is loud, obnoxious, and has bad hair. He's from somewhere in England and talks about it constantly because the girls think his accent is hot and, honestly, Josh probably does too. He's a little bit vain. The squeaky-ass doors to the gym slams behind him, and he walks in as though a magnificent audience is awaiting him.

But no, it's just Brendon. It's just Brendon because Ryan doesn't exist to Josh, and Josh is one of the people that Brendon actually refers to as Josh, and not Franchesci or Fransechi or Fettuccine or whatever the fuck his last name is. Brendon gets up, and takes his cake with him. Ryan feels awkward just sitting on the floor while Josh and Brendon talk, but more people start coming in, and they sit and stand and do whatever they please. None of them come to talk to Ryan, which shouldn't bother him but does anyways. Class starts about ten minutes after the first bell rings, after all, it is the first day and the coach is giving students time to find the gym and everything else.

Everyone sort of sits in a messy semi-circle around the coach's chair, and then he talks. And talks, and talks, and talks and then the door squeaks again and Ryan whirls around to see Patrick, Patrick Stump, the one and only person that Ryan could consider his friend. Everyone watches Patrick as he stumbles across the gym, sweaty and flustered. No one says anything, but the coach clears his throat loudly before he continues. Ryan knows that there was nothing in his throat to clear. What a dick.

After class, Ryan tries to talk to Patrick but his friend is distracted, off in another sort of world. He's upset over something, and whenever he's upset it usually has to do with Pete Wentz.

Pete Wentz isn't popular, well, people know who he is but he really isn't exactly well liked. He smokes weed in the senior hallway and hangs out at the skate park after school with the people that smell like Mexico City on a red day for air pollution. And he's hopelessly crushing on Patrick Stump. Which makes an odd pairing, because Pete is essentially a druggie and Patrick cries over bad grades. There's a difference. Pete is always getting Patrick into all sorts of shit, and sometimes it makes Ryan glad that he doesn't have friends that he's dedicated to spending time with. Patrick has been tied down to the concept that is Pete Wentz since the beginning of middle school; as they grew up they did nothing to grow apart and Patrick is always caught up in places he doesn't belong, doing things he shouldn't do. Then again, Ryan's seen the way that Patrick looks at Pete and the way that Pete makes Patrick laugh, and Ryan just hasn't got anyone to make him feel like they spent hours inventing plants and flowers and the springtime for him in their secret little laboratory. He wonders what Pete thinks Patrick has created just for him.

If anyone would ever force Ryan into disclosing who he would date if he had to date anyone in the grade, Ryan would fake-think for a while and say Brendon Urie. This is because Brendon is elegant. He's elegant like red wine and jazz music that echoes around empty rooms. He's elegant like dark chocolate in fancy packaging, like the color burgundy, like the click of high heels on polished wooden floors, like perfectly applied dark lipstick. He's got sleek hair, dark eyes, full lips, and Ryan thinks that he is completely and absolutely beautiful. But, of course, this is saying that if Ryan had to date anyone in their grade. It's not like there are lots of attractive people in the grade.

Sometimes Ryan imagines how his name would sound if Brendon ever said it. Whenever he says "Ross," it feels like a slap in the face to remind Ryan that he's not anywhere near as close as he'd like to be to Brendon Urie. Ryan swears that he can hear Brendon's loud voice down the hall, and Ryan finds out, somewhat excited, that he and Brendon share the same science class.

Science is a good class, and this year they're doing things with rocks and plants and get to go walk down to the river to test the water. Ryan listens to their teacher talk, a plain woman with a plain voice who smiled at him when he walked in. Brendon is sitting at the back of the room, but instead of sitting next to Ryan, who has chosen a seat in the far left corner, Brendon is residing in the far right corner. And he's talking. Which is never a bad thing, because his voice is pretty wonderful but Ryan's trying to listen about all of the experiments they're going to do and Brendon is yakking away to someone at the back of the room. Ryan glances over. It's the girl with bright orange hair who is really good at talking a lot. Apparently, she and Brendon are having an incredible conversation, because Ryan hears him laugh. It's a good sound, a bright sound, a happy sound, and the teacher stops talking when she hears it.

"Excuse me," she says in her tinny voice, eyes staring back at where Brendon is. "Excuse me." She repeats, louder. Someone whispers "Hayley" real quiet and the orange haired girl turns back around in her seat, smiling but apologizing to the teacher. Brendon says nothing, just leans contentedly back in his chair.

Ryan stares at him, eyes curiously watching him but all too apprehensive to be looked back at. Whenever Brendon moves, even if it is just to touch his hair or tap his pencil against the desk, Ryan breaks his gaze off and directs it back to the front of the room. Brendon doesn't notice, obviously, and he spends the rest of the class whispering to Hayley in the way that he does, and Ryan notices that he does call her "Hayley." Ryan wonders if there's ever a day that he will be called Ryan.

\--

"Ryan!"

Ryan balks and whirls around, his heart rate heightened along with his hopes as Brendon comes bounding down the hallway. Ryan's about to say something to him, but Brendon jogs right past him, not even batting an eye at the apprehensive boy. Ryan glances down the hallway to see an older boy, a senior, chatting with Brendon. Another Ryan. A Ryan with short light brown hair and a weird, long face and a big nose. He smiles while he talks to Brendon, in an animated way. He has a nice smile. Ryan Ross feels disheartened but ridiculously stupid for getting his hopes up. He hadn't been expecting Brendon to talk to him, not really, but he feels sort of let down when he sees the brown-haired boy talking to Ryan the senior, waving his hands when he talks, like a politician.

The pair walk past him, and Ryan hears their voices in the back of his head, like he's listening to someone talk on a screen with airplane noise in the background. It's like he's slid to the corner of his head and is watching everything through his eyes, but he's not in his own body, and it doesn't scare him. It's something that happens sometimes that Ryan's learned to deal with, it's like zoning out to the extreme and he can't help but think that he's glad that it happens sometime. He pulls his bag up on his shoulder and wanders down the hall towards the library, almost as a habit. Getting there doesn't leave him surprised, because it's dark and empty except for the grey-haired librarian who is just leaving.

She doesn't even know his name, but she recognizes him. She recognizes the long brown hair and the sorrowful puppy-dog eyes that speak volumes. It seems that names are everything to him because not even the librarian knows what he's called, so she just doesn't refer to him by name.

"I'm sorry, but there's no after-school stuff today. It's the first day of school, you know." Her voice seems distant and Ryan had just wanted to sit in the back corner of the library and read a good book, but instead he's caught up again in a steady stream of students leaving the school to end up in the bright, hot, outside world.

"You alright?" It's Patrick, and for once he's not with Pete and Ryan gets a faint realization that he's there because he wants to walk home with him. Ryan should feel happy about that, but thoughts have gotten all fuzzy so he just says-

"Mm," real quiet and tries to focus his eyes on Patrick. It doesn't work, and it's so bright outside; he feels all disoriented and weird.

"Library not open?" Patrick asks, and Ryan shakes his head slowly. Patrick starts walking and Ryan follows him slowly, wondering what bus Brendon takes. They walk, and Ryan feels sort of okay but he's tired and worried and they're heading towards the usual place they go to when they walk home, and Ryan says he feels sick.

"Do you wanna talk?" Patrick asks, and he stops across the street the shop where they usually get milkshakes or ice cream or even sometimes just berries. Ryan feels like he should want to talk, but he doesn't. And he doesn't exactly feel sick, either, he just feels tired. Everything's sort of coming back into perspective, and he isn't sure whether he likes it or not. He isn't sure whether he wants to throw all of his problems at Patrick or not either, so he just pauses and thinks for a moment.

"Yes." Patrick pauses, and then starts walking again. They both know where they're going, and walk in silence. Grass and sticks and such crunch under Ryan's feet, and he feels bad for trampling on all these lovely things. They reach their place before too long, and Patrick sits down on his side of it and crosses his legs. They usually bring their drinks or berries up there, but they've got nothing with them today so both of them are less distracted and more focused on what they're actually there for.

"So what's wrong?" Patrick asks casually, as though he isn't fearing the completely non-causal answer he's doing to get. The wind blows gently and Ryan watches it gently ripple through the grass. It's so pretty up where they are, a main reason that Ryan feels so calm up there.

"I feel bad all the time. I worry. I worry about stupid things, like whether there's school today and whether I look alright and if my hair is too long and if I'm late for school and if I'm saying the wrong thing and if I'm talking too loud and if I'm being awkward and if I have C lunch or A lunch tomorrow and if it's going to rain and if there will be a drought and if there will be an earthquake and if I'm going to randomly die at any time, and-and-"

"Ryan." He has been rambling and Patrick, thankfully, has stopped him. "Breathe." Ryan breathes, because Patrick has told him to and breathing isn't always the hardest thing to do. They're both serious and it feels sort of odd.

"I think I have a... problem. Like, like anxiety or something, I don't know. I don't know." Ryan finishes. Patrick says nothing. They sit. There is a group of little red flowers down at the bottom of the hill, and they remind Ryan of the colors of his bathroom walls. He doesn't like red. He likes soft colors, like pale yellows, pinks, and blues. Light grey is nice too.

"Have you told any-"

"I've told my mom and she doesn't believe me." Patrick seems frustrated for about one split second because Ryan interrupted him, but then the illusion of a form of anger leaves, and he's good old Patrick again.

"I believe you." There's silence again, so Patrick keeps going. "Is it getting worse?" Ryan has always been an anxious person, but nothing has ever started actually turning everyday occurrences into everyday inconveniences. And now things have.

"Yes." Quick, short replies are the best way to go, and Patrick has appropriately long responses prepared.

"You know, you could tell the school counselor. Whoever you have. Martin. He could help you." It's an okay suggestion but Ryan's issue is obvious, so Patrick keeps going.

"You could go sometime next week. Maybe Thursday."

"Thursday is a good day," Ryan interrupts him again, but they smile at each other. Thursdays have always been good.

"You can talk to Martin he might be able to help and I can wait in the library so you won't have to walk home alone and we can get fresh raspberries if they have them and we can go to the flower shop if you want," Patrick continues. "And tomorrow- what block is your block five?"

"History." Patrick grins.

"I have French. So we'll have C lunch together. And I can wait over by the broken water fountain on the left side of the cafeteria near the good vending machine and I can wait in the lunch line with you so you won't have to stand alone in front of all those people and then we'll sit together and I won't leave lunch early for any classes. I swear. And tomorrow I can meet you down by the church at 7:40 exactly and I'll be there at 7:40 exactly, I won't be late, and we can walk to school together and neither of us will be late and I can help you find your classes properly and you can meet me outside of the library in between classes if you need anything. I'll wait there every day." 

Patrick picks at part of his shoe that's falling off after he finishes. Ryan thinks that he might love Patrick.

"Thank you," Ryan says, his voice quiet. And he means it. He hardly means anything he says anymore but dear god, he is lucky to have Patrick Stump. He is so lucky. But he isn't quite sure how to express his thankfulness.

"You're welcome." And Patrick understands.


	2. Chapter 2

Patrick gives the best hugs. It is a fact, and Ryan feels ever so safe whenever he gets to hug Patrick. Which, unfortunately, isn't often. Patrick doesn't like being touched and Ryan respects that but it's sort of unfortunate when he gives the best hugs. Some people can't hug for the life of them, they awkwardly put their hands on your back or your shoulders and break away all too quickly, which makes you feel really awkward but Patrick does none of that, he just hugs you like it's what he's been trained to do.

Ryan had asked-

"Can I have a hug?" And Patrick had tensed up for a second and was debating saying no but it was Ryan and he deserved a hug so Patrick had hugged him. They had talked a little more and had parted ways where they usually did, at the intersection of the main street and Patrick's street. He lives in a little flat above his dad's shop, where he displays some sorts of art, photography, and maps. All kinds of maps. It had sort of freaked Ryan out at first, but he has grown used to it by now and he's beginning to appreciate how cool the maps are. Except Patrick's dad is kind of crazy on the level of absolute crazy, not strict or mean, well, he is mean sometimes, but just completely paranoid and mental. And that's what freaks Ryan out. Patrick's mom had passed three years ago, and his dad had sort of spiraled into a freaky sort of depression that neither of them really understand. Of course, having to even be near Patrick's dad makes Ryan anxious and he usually stays away from Patrick's house.

Ryan feels sorry for his friend. They say goodbye at the street where they always do, and Ryan watches Patrick slowly make his way down his street, dragging his feet. Ryan sometimes wishes that Patrick would talk about himself for once, and not make everything about Ryan's problems. Of course, it's never bad to have someone to talk to and help out, but Ryan always feels like he's never able to do enough for someone who's always helping him.

He supposes it's fine though, that there's nothing he should feel guilty about, and continues on his way home. He's worried. For no reason, which is always why he's worried. Maybe he's worried that his mom is going to be mad at him for something or that his parents are going to be fighting over something trivial again.

Perhaps he'll just go home and read a book. Reading is the best thing ever. It's easy to get lost in a book and simply forget about everything else, at least, for him. Some people argue that movies are better and that music is better, but both of them are too loud. Books, however, books aren't loud. Yes, they can describe loudness and inflict all sorts of fear and throw in all sorts of onomatopoeia but shutting the book cuts it all off. There might be a mental image created from the words, but movies can leave a lasting imagine in one's mind and songs can leave a lasting haunting sound and books do none of that, so. For someone as easily scared as Ryan, books are always his favorite thing because a really, really good book does the job of distracting him from the world exceptionally well, and a not really good book can still keep him going.

He walks by the sunflower house, smiles at the flowers like the idiot he is, and continues down the unfamiliar street that he dislikes quite a bit except for the sunflower house at the end. Always, for the longer he walks, the more worried he gets, and that's what is happening this time because he isn't rushing to school, no, instead he is slowly pacing himself down the street because he's worried about his parents but if he walks faster he'll get home faster and he doesn't want to get home faster but if he walks slower he'll get home later and then his parents might be mad so he just-

Goes at a medium pace that is medium to him but he thinks it might be slower for a taller person and faster for a shorter person but he supposes he is about an average height, but then he doesn't know exactly how tall he is which is scary because he likes being clear about things like that, easily measurable things, like weight and height and shoe size and whatever else. Now he wants to get home faster so he can somehow figure out how tall he is because it is always important to know, and then he reaches his street.

And then there's a loud honking sound right behind him that causes him to jump and spin around with so much anxiety inside of him that he felt like he might just explode. It's the dreaded car, ugly and grey and with his parents, or in this case, parent inside of it. His mom is sitting in the driver's seat, his dad not there. She beckons at him to get in, so he does.

Already, she seems like she wants to reprimand him for breathing heavily and constantly putting his hand over his chest so he can feel how hard his heart is beating.

"Where's Dad?" He asks right away, cutting off whatever question she had to ask about his school day. He's done it twice today, the interrupting. It almost upsets him that he can't control how rude he is to people that he should care about, or does care about.

"Wanted to go to the casino," she replies quickly, like it doesn't bother her and it's a regular thing. Well, it is a regular thing. He drives all the way out to Maryland just to go lose money. Ryan just knows that she hates how the man that she thought she loved spends his nights getting drunk and losing their money, while she's at home arguing with a semi-fucked up kid who she can't seem to love anymore.

But everything is okay, of course. Ryan thinks that he should have taken theater instead of pleading for an extra free block. He's getting good at acting.

"How was school?" She asks like he knows she would.

"Fine. Patrick was there." He says, including some sort of basic information that she might or might not appreciate.

"How's is he? Hasn't been around in a while." They live at the end of the street, and Ryan's mom seems to be driving slower than usual. She just wants to have a conversation, so she's going slow. Ryan will disappear up to his room as soon as they get home because he tells her that he feels safer up there, so then she'll scoff and ask him what's so unsafe about the rest of the house. It's a routine, and he hates it.

"His dad doesn't want him here." Ryan replies, and takes a second to watch the road disappear under the greedy tires of the car before he looks up because it's making him dizzy.

"Is he okay? Patrick, I mean. His dad seems to be getting a bit... wackier." She finally makes the turn onto their driveway, and Ryan relaxes as the familiar flowers and plants on the sides of the driveway do their usual scraping against the car doors.

"I hope so," Ryan says, and unbuckles his seatbelt as his mom pulls into their spot. He hops out without saying goodbye and can hear his mom sigh from back in the car. He runs to the back door and is devastated to find out that it's locked. He jumps around for a bit while his mom takes a long ass time to get her purse that probably weighs as much as three full sized bowling balls out of the car until he finally just yells-

"Why is the door locked?" In a voice much too loud to be his own, and she stops right there and he cringes because he's made a mistake. All his words stop as she continues her march up the stairs, except she's really and properly mad this time and he knows just why. They don't speak as she unlocks the door and steps inside, and he's about to run up to his room to escape the argument buzzing in the air like humidity and electricity before a storm.

"Why do you think you can blame everything you do on a nonexistent mental illness you've given yourself?" She shouts as soon as the door closes, and Ryan bites back a whiny reply as he stands with his back turned to her. "Oh no! The door is locked! What on earth am I going to do? Oh my- I'm outside by myself! Someone is going to kill me! Oh, my life is over!" She imitated, raising her voice to a high pitched wail that hurts Ryan's ears. Then she falls silent like she realizes that maybe she's done something wrong.

God, if only.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you." She sounds so, so angry, so he turns around and unwillingly lifts his eyes to meet hers. "You are pathetic." And he believes it.

\--

The next morning, Patrick is at the church where he said he would be. Ryan meets him and tries to smile but it doesn't quite cut it and Patrick realizes that something is wrong, but doesn't ask. Ryan is glad that he doesn't.

But it isn't fair, just like the rest of life, how Patrick is sad because he just doesn't deserve that, no, not at all. Ryan thinks that the best people always seem to have the worst things happen to them, and it makes him hate life. They cross the street in silence, though Ryan hears pianos playing pretty melodies in the back of his head. He's not as anxious today.

The fight with his mom was never resolved, and Ryan doesn't think that he wants it to be. There's so much fighting that he feels like people being at peace for once sounds like too much work.

Maybe he's right.

Pete Wentz meets them at the front doors of the school. He nods at Ryan, at least he acknowledges him, but then directs his main attention to Patrick. He pulls him to the side, starts whispering and coughing loudly in between sentences for no reason. Ryan feels awkward.

"I'm going to class," he says, almost feeling like he wants Patrick's attention.

"Okay," Patrick replies. And he's not paying attention, he's looking at Pete and Ryan supposes there is nothing in life like looking at Pete.

Ryan has English first this morning, and he finds himself wondering why he always has all the worst classes first. English isn't bad at all, but it requires concentration that he doesn't have. He also doesn't like sharing his writing with others, which is some sort of a problem. Along with presenting and speaking in front of others.

He thinks about love as he walks to class, and soon decides that he doesn't believe in it. Which is fine. He gets to class and is greeted by a seating chart projected on the board. Somehow, he's sitting near the back corner and right next to Brendon Urie, who is sitting there with a piece of cake on a paper plate, eating with a plastic fork. He looks up, smiles at Ryan and says,

"Good morning, Ross! Want some cake?" Ryan shakes his head, maybe mumbles a little "no thanks" but honestly he really can't think straight at all, and just sits down at the tan desk covered in little eraser marks next to Brendon Urie. Brendon eats his cake and Ryan writes down The Smiths lyrics in the smallest text he can manage on his desk. Both of them are early, but like yesterday, people start arriving before things can get properly awkward.

The teacher walks in at some point, a woman carrying deep bags under her eyes and a scowl on her face. Ryan had remembered the existence of his book at that point, and has slumped down to an odd level behind his desk while flipping through the pages pretty fast because, yes, it is a damn good book.

"Class!" She shouts, and Ryan bangs his knee on the desk because he's sat up so fast. Brendon watches him out of the corner of his eye, and almost laughs. It's not a mean kind of laugh though, but Ryan flushes and scoops the book he's dropped off of the floor. His bookmark fell out, damn, but he was on page 219 because he remembers his page numbers. He's about to lean down to grab the bookmark off the floor but a loud bell rings throughout the school and the teacher barks-

"Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the third!" Everyone falls silent, watches her. Brendon giggles. Someone in front of him and to the right leans back, he has a nice smile, but it dies quickly when the teacher shrieks again.

"Is Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the third here today?" Ryan realizes that Pete is supposed to be sitting to the left of him, and that their teacher is calling role. "I'll mark him absent." She remarks.

"George Ryan Ross the third!" She announces next, and Ryan cringes.

"Here," he says meekly, "but you can call me Ryan." That's something he's trained himself to say over the years, "you can call me Ryan," and teachers say "okay, thanks" and that's that, he's not George, he's Ryan. So she says,

"Thank you, George." Ryan hesitates, almost wondering if she didn't hear him. "Brendon Boyd Urie!" She continues, directing a sour smile at him.

"Here," he calls, giving her a beamy bright smile back at her that makes Ryan feel sort of like he's melting.

"Just know, you're not getting any special treatment here, especially in this class." Brendon's smile dies a bit, and both Ryan and the teacher watch it go. He wonders why Brendon wouldn't get any special treatment.

"Of course." Brendon says, but this time it's not all happy and excited. The teacher moves on, and the kid in front of Brendon to the right twists back around again and whispers-

"Do you know her?" The kid has ugly bleached hair, faded remains of blue twisted into it. He's got bright eyes and a happy demeanor, and shoots Ryan a sort of half smile, which is always perfectly acceptable.

"Mom's friend. From church, I think," Brendon replies, poking at his cake.

"Alexander William Gaskarth!"

"Here!" The boy calls, whirling around in his chair. "Alex is okay, though." And she says, just like she did for Ryan-

"Thank you, Alexander."

\--

"How tall do you think I am?"

"Taller than me." It isn't the answer that Ryan wants and he sighs, directing a (hopefully) miserable looking gaze at Patrick. It's their free block, and Patrick is distracted and looking around for someone who isn't Ryan Ross. He was there, at least, like he said he would be. At the library in between every class if you need anything. Ryan is only there because he wants to know how tall he is and Patrick is just giving half hearted replies because he's looking around for someone and of course- it's Pete.

He saunters up the hall with the trademark smug smile on his face that says he is so much better than anyone.

"Hi, 'Trick." Trick. A nickname. "Hey, Ryan." Patrick looks all giddy and breathes out a "hi" which Ryan sort of ruins by saying quite bluntly "you missed English class."

"Ah," Pete says, "yeah. There was a bit of a problem. Anyways," he continues, completely disregarding Ryan, "can you meet up after school?" This is directed at Patrick, and he glances at Ryan almost as if for permission before saying yes. Pete begins to start talking about who will be there and everything, things that Ryan has no care for, so he repeats what he had said earlier that morning and disappears.

Lunch is spent at a table with Patrick and two girls who are speaking very rapid Russian. They're really quite unfriendly and keep glaring at Ryan and Patrick while making no effort to switch languages to tell them to promptly fuck off, or anything. It doesn't bother Ryan though. Ryan picks at his lunch and reads his book that he's got propped up behind the tray, and Patrick sits in silence and thinks. Well, Ryan thinks that he's thinking but he isn't really sure because he's really not sure of anything anymore but if Patrick isn't speaking then he must be thinking, so.

"How tall do you think I am?" Ryan asks again, slowly looking up from his book at Patrick's face. He looks sort of annoyed for a second and then says-

"I don't know. Stop asking me." The annoyed look doesn't leave and Ryan pauses for a second, wondering if there's going to be an apology.

But there isn't.

"Sorry," he mutters, picking at the pages of his book.

"'S fine." Then, silence. It feels awkward and weird and Ryan would ask if Patrick is okay but that might make him even more pissed, and then Ryan realizes that Patrick is just happier with Pete. Oh. Well. It's odd that what Ryan thinks hurts him more than what is actually going on, but wait, isn't that what thoughts always do?

Yeah. Patrick frowns and picks at a mark on the table. Ryan is glad when lunch ends, and says a quick "bye" to Patrick before rushing off to the other side of the school for his last class of the day, math. Math is his worst subject because he's bad at concentrating and he doesn't understand how writing proofs for isosceles triangles is going to help him out later in life, but, of course, he trusts his life and his future with math class.

As he should.

Brendon's in his math class, of course he is, but this time he is sitting directly at the front of the room, which is odd, because there's no seating chart. Ryan moves to the back, as he generally does, and waits for class to start while reading his book. It's the end of the day and everyone is hyper and ready to go home, especially at the front of the room where Brendon is sitting. The teacher comes in with everything falling out of her arms, she rushes to her desk and dumps everything on it before it can fall to the floor. She pushes her messy blonde hair out of her eyes and lets out a loud sigh.

"Welcome to... class. I'd appreciate it-" she starts, pausing to glare at the kids in the front of the room, "-if you guys could be quiet so I can just... go over.... stuff." No one is quiet. Well, Ryan is, but most people keep on chattering with their friends as if she doesn't exist. And, well, Ryan's book is sitting in front of his face so he isn't exactly paying her any attention, but at least he's listening. Not that he has to show it.

"Class." She sounds so exhausted, and Ryan almost snickers to himself behind his book. No one listens.

"Class!" She shouts. Ryan's not losing it yet, but he's getting there and he doesn't even know why it's so amusing it's just no one is listening and she's pretending that everyone is.

"Everyone shut up!" It's enough to make Ryan drop his book on the desk which then makes his book slide down his desk and everyone is silent and then BAM his book smacks onto the floor. Everyone has turned around to gawk at him, and his face turns bright red as he looks up at the front of the room to see him, him staring right at him. Smiling.

"Thank you." Says the teacher, not acknowledging Ryan's fuck up. Brendon's easy grin doesn't go anywhere, but he slowly turns back around in his chair to whisper to someone next to him. Ryan leans down to grab his book, the same way he did that morning, and then-

"Didn't I ask you to stop talking!?" It's so loud that Ryan swears that a megaphone has just been brought in, and he sits up so fast that his chair moves about two feet backwards, and gives a loud screechy scrape but no one notices because everyone is trained on Brendon this time.

He's still sort of laughing, not serious and definitely not anywhere near the teacher's good side.

"You might have," he replies, scratching the back of his head. Whoever had had been talking to, a girl with pretty blue hair, laughs a bit but sounds nervous. The teacher turns her eyes on the pair of them, glaring like she had never seen anything more disgusting.

"What are your names?" There was a long silence. Someone pops a bubble with their gum.

"Ashley." She says first. It's obvious that she's realizing that this isn't a joke anymore.

"Ashley," the teacher repeats, staring her down. "And you?" Back to Brendon, and he shrugs.

"Your favorite problematic student, I'd guess." He does something else that Ryan can't see because he's all the way at the back, but the class erupts into laughter, an odd change from the dead silence, and the teacher looks like she'd rather be carrying a gun.

"It's Brendon," Ashley stammers out. "Brendon Urie." He must've shot her a look because she pales even more and the teacher looks absolutely victorious.

"Brendon Urie. Every day after school, you're staying at the library until the late bus to do work. I'll be monitoring to make sure you're there." A chorus of "oohs" fill the classroom, and Ryan watches Brendon's shoulders slump the smallest amount when he's given the information.

"Yeah," he says dismissively. "Alright."

Yeah alright is right it's exactly right because Ryan breaks into a huge smile that no one in the world notices because every damn day Brendon's going to be at the library and Ryan is always at the library after school and, well, all of Ryan's jubilant emotions can be summed up with a "yeah, alright," right then.

Everything is pretty yeah, alright.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes about three days for Ryan to realize that he doesn't like Pete. Not that he's rude or mean or anything, honestly, if Ryan didn't have anything personally against him then he would be an alright person. He says hi to Ryan him and always acknowledges him positively but it never really goes any more than that, and besides, Patrick is obsessed with him and Ryan hates it.

He realizes it when he tells Patrick that they've got fresh apples at the store and Patrick says something mildly apologetic about hanging out with Pete. It's Friday, and Ryan only offers because he wants to spend time with someone but then he remembers that Brendon will be in the library, so he takes Patrick's so-so but outright no as a yeah, alright, and goes the other way down the hall to the library.

Brendon's not there, not yet, for one, so Ryan cracks open Pride and Prejudice and starts reading. He sits in the back corner where the light doesn't always reach properly and there are comfy chairs that no one knows about because they're far away from the printer and everyone else. Today, it seems more empty than usual and this, of course, is because it's a Friday and no one really likes staying after on Fridays. Ryan has always felt so safe in the library and he always knew that Patrick judged him for rather being around books than people, and at least he's got a choice of where to be.

And Ryan can more easily imagine Patrick not wanting to be around people because he isn't, really, usually. The only people he actually interacts with are Pete and Ryan, and Ryan supposes that he has to chose one over the other eventually. And Ryan's only "person" is Patrick, there's really honestly no one else, and that's really kind of sad. 

Everyone has a best friend. Everyone else has got someone to confide in, someone who's always there to hang out with, someone who keeps all their secrets no matter what, someone who will talk about anything and everything just forever just to have something to do, someone who just gets it. 

But what do you do when your someone starts trying to find someone else? 

Ryan's about to start diving way deep into his stupid, self pitying thoughts were the loud, dragging footsteps of the one and only Brendon Urie.

"Hey, Ross. Pretty empty in here, right?" He asks. Ryan's heart rate is through the roof and he feels as if he might melt like the Wicked Witch of whatever compass direction she's from. When Brendon said "pretty empty," he meant that the library was completely dead and no one's there but the librarian, who's talking to a math teacher, and them, the two boys at the back.

Their math teacher is nowhere to be seen.

"Yeah," Almost whispers Ryan like he doesn't want to be heard, but this time, he does.

"Why are you here?" Asks Brendon, and it's a casual, fine question that Ryan answers with a casual, fine answer.

"Better than home." Brendon nods, and shrugs, but sort of nods again.

"Stump's busy?" It takes a second to realize that he's talking about Patrick.

"Oh, yeah. I guess." Silence, and then Brendon pulls a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips out of his bag and opens it extremely loudly. The librarian is waving a George Bush biography around and another teacher watches in sort of fear.

"Want some?" Brendon asks. He's sitting sort of next to Ryan, which makes Ryan's body feel even more like it's been doused in gasoline and lit on fire. There's a part of the library that's sort of... in. In. There's no other word for it. The bookshelves form a sort of alley, wall, thing, whatever, and the books on the floor-to-ceiling shelves are all gross history books that are only there for the purpose of one class that the seniors are offered that maybe four of them take a year. It's Ryan's place. There's a cabinet sort of thing that Ryan sometimes stashes textbooks and things in because they're too heavy to carry back and forth from school, and it doubles as a mini table that Brendon has just slammed his stuff down on. On either side of the table is a squishy chair, and Ryan sits on the one to the left. Brendon is on the right.

"We're not allowed to eat in here," Ryan says slowly. Brendon raises his eyebrows so high that they almost disappear under his hair.

"And you care?" Ryan bites his lip and falls silent, always. "Want some?" Brendon asks again. Ryan shakes his head no. He doesn't need to accidentally brush his hand against Brendon's while trying to get some chips because any human contact with that man, or boy, or whatever he can be called, will surely end Ryan's life right then and there.

"Why didn't you ditch?" Ryan asks.

"Because my mom is pregnant." There's a pause in which Ryan tries to gather what to say.

"You're here because your mom is pregnant?" Jesus, he's great with words.

"Because when I'm at home I have to do everything because I don't complain as much as everyone else. Being nice to your parents has disadvantages. And hey, you're not the worst person to spend time with." What was that? Ryan's heart contracting inside of his chest? A heart attack? Death? Brendon smiles at Ryan, his eyes warm.

"So, did you get chapter three, or?"

\--

Ryan's dad is home when Ryan gets home, and is obviously in a foul mood. His mom isn't there, from what he can tell.

"And where were you?" Starts Ryan's dad as soon as his son steps in the door. Of course, he should know that Ryan stays after in the library to catch up on extra work, but he seems like he might have been drinking and sometimes when he drinks he tends to forget basic things about his kid's life.

"I stayed after at the library. Did English work." His dad stared at him, eyes glazed and confused. Ryan doesn't know where his mom is and he's glad because he doesn't, ever, want to deal with her and she's never apologized for the screaming and he sort of wishes that she has. Sort of.

"Wha... why?" Ryan pauses and debates what to say.

"English work." He repeats. There are footsteps, and his mom comes downstairs. She looks hesitant and sort of scared and it seems like all Ryan can infer ever is that something is wrong. Only in his house, though. It's not like he can look at any person in the halls at school and completely decide that something is wrong in their life, but he's known his parents for his whole life and though he doesn't know them, know their secrets and their fears, he can tell when something has happened and something has definitely happened. His mom casts a fearful glance at his father, and then turns her eyes to him.

"Do you want dinner? Something to eat?" No apology, never any apology.

"No, I'm fine. I'm going to go and do my science project." There is no science project. His parents stand in uncharacteristic silence as he quickly climbs the stairs with Brendon's smiley face burning a strangely comforting mental image into his mind.

The electronic lantern set up in his closet has gone out, which sets him off right away and the scary possibility that he's trying to push out of his mind of his father hurting his mom, yeah, that's not doing him any good and it's the kind of night in which he'll text Patrick to see if they can meet at their place to talk but bail out because he's too scared to walk outside, alone, at night. Alone. Always fucking alone. 

And he would call but he hates the way his voice shakes when he's nervous and he hates phone calls, detests the ringing and ringing and ringing that never fucking stops, ever, at least until someone picks up but he can just imagine Patrick not even wanting to talk to him because he's probably with Pete, smelling like smoke and talking like the world is out to get him.

It's the kind of night that he spends over thinking everything and trying to light up every single part of his room just in case there's someone or something hiding there. He digs out the extra batteries from somewhere in the back of his room and fills up his flashlights and lanterns and sits on his bed, terrified of nothing and trying to comfort himself by the thought of books, flowers, and boys named Brendon.

Books, one may think, would do a grand job comforting Ryan if he could just open one up but he is shaking too much and he just supposes that his brain isn't functioning properly and he's just, he's just so fucking upset.

So he stays up late and later and later and waits to see the sun circle itself around the rest of the sky and reappear over the horizon while sitting on his bed and consistently checking the corners and the shadows to make sure no one's hiding there to kill him.

He gets that sort of tingly feeling when the sun comes back up that makes him want to pretend that he doesn't have shaded circles under his eyes and his mouth doesn't taste like a shoe and his legs aren't sore from pacing around his room all night long.

He's gone too long without sleep and everything hurts and aches but the sunrise is so pretty that he briefly forgets about everything making him scared because the sun is making the clouds turn pink and purple and a hazy yellow and there's a bit of fog that he'll get to walk through and make him feel like he's in a dream.

The sunflower house on the corner looks regal and almost made out of magic, like a photo that is real life but looks like nothing that anyone will ever be able to see in their lifetime. But real life for Ryan doesn't always feel so real when he has been dissociating for maybe the past seven hours and has a minor problem with depth perception while walking up the stairs to the school.

He doesn't even take the time to realize that Patrick hadn't met him at the church across the street. And somehow, it doesn't seem to matter.

"You look tired, Ross." Are the first words spoken to him that day and it's when Brendon holds open the locker room door for him as they walk back into the gym. Ryan looks up at him in a sort of daze that hopefully doesn't say "I'm ass over tits in love with you," and just sort of instead says nothing. Brendon keeps holding the door and Ryan makes it more awkward by staring a little longer but then continues out of the door and half falls down the stairs while Brendon watches because, again, depth perception.

Patrick doesn't have lunch with him today and after beating himself up in his head for a good fifteen minutes in the lunch line, Ryan is left defenseless in front of an entire cafeteria. Well, he has his shield of a lunch tray. Some kid with a speaker stuck in the side pocket of his bag shoves past Ryan and says something along the lines of "get out of the way," completely unnecessary, seeing as he had successfully moved Ryan out of the way, which brings Ryan to stand flat back against the wall with his now shaking lunch tray in his hands.

He can't take Patrick's company for granted anymore, even if it is cold and sometimes feels a little mean.

Someone's been saying "hey" and "yo" and sort of greetings like that for a period of time that Ryan doesn't know and he finally comes to realize that he's being addressed from a lunch table in the corner near the door. There are only two kids at it, older ones who look like full on goths. One of them, the guy, is sort of half leaned over the table and is waving at Ryan. Unable to point at himself because of the tray in his hands, Ryan just mouths "me?" The dude nods and beckons him over and Ryan is relieved but also the tiniest bit nervous to join the two at their table.

As it turns out, they're both guys. One of them just has long, greasy, hair and is wearing eyeliner.

"You look a little lost." Says the one who had invited Ryan over. His hair is short, half shaved and bleached on one side, and he seems sort of permanently worn out. He doesn't seem exactly to be a goth. Punk, maybe.

"I'm- not. I just. Um. I don't have. Friends?" The one who looks like a girl has his eyebrows raised and looks really not impressed and Ryan feels sort of sick.

"Well, that's life. You can sit with us, if you want, so you don't have to, like, eat alone in the bathrooms. I'm Frank, by the way." Frank has this warm and oddly welcoming sort of voice that's got this round sound to it probably because of something with his tongue but he seems nice and the goth, who has been leaning back in his chair, sits himself up and introduces himself as Gerard. Ryan tells them his name.

"Are you new here?" Frank asks, turning to divide his attention between the conversation and the crusts he was picking off of his sandwich.

"No, I. No." Frank nods pleasantly.

"I haven't seen you before." Gerard is silently studying Ryan very closely from over his thermos filled with god knows what, and Ryan can't help but feel a little uncomfortable.

"That's life." Ryan said quietly, unknowingly echoing Frank, and picked at the slop on his lunch tray with a wildly bendy plastic spoon. Gerard does this little hair toss thing and leans forward, his thermos still clutched in front of him.

"You," he says in a scratchy, Jersey sort of drawl, "do have friends. And you're in love with someone and you hope you're letting on enough but he doesn't notice and you think he's probably straight but, honestly, everyone these days is gay, so what's stopping you?" Frank doesn't even look up from his crusts. Ryan burns his tongue on the food he's eating.

"What-?"

"Virgo. Late August, early September. Pastels, fruits- vegetarian. Books! And nature." Frank is totally not taking notice of what is happening, and is smoothing out the overflow of jelly on the sides of his sandwich. Ryan just stares at Gerard, who is eyeing him up and down. "Poetry?" Ryan scoffs and Gerard leans back in his chair, thermos up on his knees again. "I knew I was getting out of my element."

"You did pretty well." Gerard nods like he's proud of himself and looks at Ryan again, but differently this time. Now there's a kind of familiarity. Frank finally takes a bite out of his sandwich. Ryan sees a little tattoo on his wrist. It looks like it's been done at home.

They fall into this conversation that doesn't feel too much like an interrogation about Ryan's classes, the kids are seniors, and the books he reads and Frank's hair and coffee and things that normal people talk about. Gerard eats the mystery food out of his thermos while Ryan pokes the shit on his plate and Frank seems very concentrated on eating his sandwich just right. He cuts it into triangles after he gets rid of the crusts and then eats it very carefully and precisely. As lunch draws to a close, Frank pulls a little bottle out of his bag.

Ryan immediately thinks it's alcohol but the bright green color says otherwise so Ryan asks-

"Is that poison?" Because Gerard could totally be a witch and Frank chokes on the small amount of whatever he just drank and Gerard's eyebrows go up again and then.

"It's mouthwash." Frank says. A lot less exciting than poison. Ryan feels like investing in mouthwash to drink after every meal. They part ways when they reach the transition hallway and Ryan really doesn't want to because it means he'll have to be susceptible and alone again but he goes and walks down to the science hallway. Their teacher isn't there to let them into class yet so Ryan hangs out around the lockers with miscellaneous members of the class.

Everything seems normal and no one seems out to get him until Ryan hears the wonderful voice of Brendon Urie from further up the hallway. It isn't eavesdropping because that's just rude, but Ryan shifts the focus of what he's listening to from the vague buzzing conversation of the hallway to the conversation taking place behind him.

"Brown hair, brown eyes, doesn't talk much. Sort of emo." Ryan is more alert than ever know. He doesn't know who Brendon is describing but he isn't exactly sure if he wants to know who Brendon is describing.

"The gay one?" Ryan doesn't know who Brendon is talking to exactly but it sounds a little like Hayley and Ryan doesn't exactly really like Hayley so he lets out a low breath and hopes their topic of conversation doesn't get ugly.

"Well I don't know that for a fact. He's in our class! Y'know, reads? Sits at the back?" Ryan feels a lump sort of stick in his throat.

"Oh, right! He's kinda cute!" And Hayley isn't the person that Ryan wants to hear that from.

"Well, he's smart, right?

"Yeah." Flattering.

"And he can, help. With work, you know?" Ryan is overly aware of the sharp feeling of the locker against his back. If Brendon is just fucking using him...

"Like, he'll do it for you?" And Ryan really isn't in the mood to be listening to his crush talk about the many ways that he'll end up using him to get his grades up, and he slips down the hallway. Headed towards the bathrooms, maybe, but he ends up behind the science hallway where all the maintenance closets and basement rooms are. Skipping class has never really been his forte but it doesn't matter this time because he understands science and one class isn't going to make any difference.

"Hey there, stranger." Ryan nearly jumps out of his skin because there aren't windows down where he is and the lights are a little dingy and he hasn't been expecting anyone else to be down there. It smells like cigarettes and Ryan honestly isn't surprised to see Frank through all the smoke. Ryan's wrinkled nose seems to give Frank a hint to snuff out his cig, and he does.

"Why are you down here?" Ryan asks. Frank cracks his neck and kicks the butt of his cigarette to the edge of the stair that he's sat on.

"I've got something to miss. Guess you have too." Ryan sighs.

"Yeah."

\--

It's not like Ryan's not going to hang out in the back seats of the library and hope that Brendon is going to show up. Again, he hadn't even heard the end to the conversation so who is he to be making assumptions about Brendon's intentions with him?

But it doesn't matter.

Brendon doesn't show. No, actually, he does. Ryan is standing by the bookshelf, pretending to look for something, but actually watching people pass by the doors to the library, dropping off books or maybe looking for someone inside. Brendon steps up to the doors and Ryan hides behind the books in the shelf, but he doesn't hear those arrogant, telltale footsteps. He hears nothing. Parting the books, Ryan glances at the doors. Brendon's standing there, and his face his sort of worried. Sad, for some reason. He steps in and Ryan's heart gives a little jump but he stops again and then he just.

Turns around.

And leaves.


	4. Chapter 4

"Ryan!"

Depth perception isn't so much of a problem now when Ryan just wants to get away from Patrick and he finds himself scrambling down the steps to the school and Patrick, who has been perched outside of the school doors like a handsome gargoyle, follows him right down.

"Are you running away from me?" It's enough to call out childlike behavior and Ryan stops in his tracks, trying to come up with a good enough accusatory statement to throw back at Patrick. But, really, he hasn't done anything wrong. Patrick's crush has been paying more attention to him and so he's been paying attention back and Ryan's caught in the middle somewhere, being immature and jealous.

"No," Ryan says finally. "I'm not running away from you." Patrick looks fed up. His bag is hanging loosely from his hand, in fact, it's dragging on the floor which is something Patrick pays lots of attention to. There's a half sort of scowl on his face but it's fading as he realizes that Ryan isn't going to go head on down the street and leave him in the dust. They face each other like they're in an old western film and soon enough one of them will pull a gun out and start shooting but neither of them have enough violence to kill each other and instead they just stare.

"You were." Patrick points out, sounding a lot less accusatory, and he pulls his bag back up onto his shoulders and walks over to Ryan. Ryan lets out this sigh-y breath and Patrick relaxes and Ryan sees just how tense he's been. "C'mon." Patrick says without any other words attached to it, it sounds sort of pathetic actually, but Ryan follows him across the playground. Trailing behind him, like always. Ryan will never be his own person.

The playground isn't for the high schoolers at all, it's for the elementary kids that walk across the grounds for an after school daycare sort of thing, but they're not here this late so Ryan and Patrick perch on top of the structure, cool in the shade of the roof of it. They can look across the soccer field from up here, see all the russet trees, and breathe the sharp autumn air.

"So what's up?" Patrick asks all casual like, as though he doesn't know what the fuck is up. Ryan looks at his socks and tries not to think about the AP Gov textbook in the back of his bag or the fact that Brendon Urie is using him or the fact that he's absolutely pathetic but looking over at Patrick's earnest face makes him want to start crying.

"I don't have any friends." Ryan says in his trademark stupid not loud enough voice that rips back through his head every time he speaks and makes him want to curl up and die. He hates his voice. He hates himself.

"I'm your friend." Patrick offers, but it's really not enough.

"I have one friend." Patrick sighs, wipes at his tired eyes, and leans back against the circular rail around them. He'd make a perfect silhouette from the ground, Ryan would like to be on the ground, away from something stressful, but instead he's up on top of the little kid's playground with a slide behind him and he knows that if he leans back he'll be going backasswards down a damn slide and will probably land on his head and snap his spine around a bit and therefore paralyze himself which will mean he won't be able to walk past the sunflower house and feel like he's really alive on chilly foggy mornings.

"Listen, Ry, I'm sorry that I've been ignoring you. Pete's just..." Patrick trails and gets this sick dreamy look on his face and he doesn't really snap out of it at all. "Pete's just fantastic." It's the worst apology Ryan has ever heard and he shifts himself away from the slide and sighs heavily.

"It must be hard to be having such a stellar time being alive." Ryan doesn't sound as stupid and whiny saying that and he blinks through angry eyes at Patrick's oddly hurt face.

"Ryan, you could at least try to talk to some people. You talk to Brendon sometimes, right? I can't be your only friend for forever. You do need to grow up a bit." That hurts Ryan and Patrick sees his face darken and he's not anxious or anything now, no, he's just mad.

"I need to grow up?" Ryan asks, his voice strong.

"Yeah, yeah you do." They stare at each other with angry eyes and Ryan sort of wants to lash out, to fucking smack Patrick or something and he's just so damn obsessed with himself and Pete, fucking Pete this, Pete that, and Ryan's sick of it. Ryan's sick of not existing. He gets up and Patrick watches from his seated position.

"Get over yourself." He says, and is about to leave down the slide before he realizes that he'll look like a dumb bastard if he does that so he just jumps down over a climbing structure and lands with more grace than he thought was possible.

"Grow a fucking pair, Ryan!" Ryan holds up his middle finger in the air behind him as he storms off the playground, kicking dead leaves like some kind of little dumb kid as he leaves. It's not the most grand exit, but it's better than sitting there like Patrick is.

Ryan's halfway home by the time he realizes that he's started crying. He's on his front lawn by the time he realizes that he took no notice of the sunflower house on his way home. He's in his room by the time he realizes that Patrick had sounded exactly like his dad does when he's drunk.

Ryan is so sick of not existing.

\--

He goes out that night after his dad doesn't come home and his mom cooks dinner for no one. It's cold and dark outside and usually Ryan would be pissing himself in anxiousness but he's all numbed out tonight. He would call Patrick if he was on speaking terms with Patrick but instead he just walks the city in his jeans and t-shirt until his body is as numb as his mind.

It feels great.

Walks to the city limits and back which isn't too far, really, the town is about ten square miles if you count all the farmland that is technically in the city but no one cares about. The night gets colder and colder which makes Ryan feel warmer and warmer and he slowly loops back around to the school grounds because he doesn't want to go home. The night is dark blue and orange with blurry street lamps and Ryan feels calmer in these colors. Maybe sunshine is overrated.

It's when he sits back up on the play structure where he and Patrick fought earlier that he realizes that he's not going home tonight. According to both of his watches, it's 3:52 in the morning right now and school starting isn't that far away, 8:00 in the morning, and he doesn't mind, really.

The sun gets up around 6:30 which wakes Ryan out of his tired daze. He's spent a while trying to convince himself not to fall asleep and he nearly doesn't, no, he doesn't. He's strong enough for that. And he's really damn hungry by the time the sun rolls up and maybe if Brendon offers him cake today he might take him up on the offer.

Brendon.

Although it sounds creepy as shit, Ryan is excited to finally figure out when Brendon comes to school and why he's always so damn early. That wakes him up enough and he sits up straight and watches the clouds pass by until 7:00 when he stretches his sleepy limbs that are absolutely frozen cold but don't bother Ryan in the slightest. Honestly, he's feeling fine.

It's warm inside the school and Ryan perches at a bench outside the library in the main common area of the place and he doesn't even have to wait ten minutes before Brendon Urie makes his grand appearance at the side doors that people usually use to sneak back in from McDonald's. The appearance isn't exactly grand, really, he shows up looking flustered and exhausted, holding something that has to be a piece of cake wrapped up in a napkin, tugging on the doors like he magically expects them to open. The buses don't drop people off until 7:40ish so Ryan and the teachers are the only ones there and Ryan's the only one in the front hall area but he's too busy staring at Brendon's face to realize that he's supposed to let Brendon in. It takes him about a second, but it happens, and he stumbles to the door and pulls it open for Brendon.

"Thanks for your time, Ross." Is Brendon's greeting and Ryan nods and blushes and tries to form an apology but words won't come out of his mouth. "You're looking a little under the weather," Brendon adds, as though he hadn't skipped his detention and also broken Ryan's heart a little bit yesterday, and Ryan blushes even harder.

"Thanks!" He gushes in this horrible voice that makes Brendon smile the way that makes Ryan feel like crying.

"You're welcome." Brendon sits down at the bench that Ryan had been lounging around on while he waited, and unwraps his cake. Without waiting for an invitation, Ryan sits down next to him and stares at him dreamily through glazed eyes. Brendon casually eats his cake until he realizes that Ryan's staring, and he pauses about halfway through the slice.

"Want some?" He asks amiably, eyebrows raised a bit.

"No!" Exclaims Ryan in a deeply offended tone, and Brendon shrugs and continues with his cake.

"So," Brendon says through a mouthful of pink frosting. "The Catcher in the Rye, yeah?" Ryan nods, although he has no idea what they're talking about, and inches a tiny bit closer to Brendon. He's so damn hungry. "What on earth is the point of it? How would you describe the plot?" This here is Brendon's perfect, completely undisguised ploy to get Ryan to do his work for him, and Ryan is completely falling for it.

"Well, it's not so much the plot that matters." Ryan begins in a sort of matter-of-fact voice. "The plot is basically that a depressed kid gets kicked out of yet another prep school and goes around being depressed in New York City. That is it, right?" Brendon nods like he's read the book and Ryan is sure that he hasn't but he keeps going regardless. "For the essay-"

"There's an essay?" Brendon interrupts, cake falling out of his mouth. It's in that ungraceful act when Ryan realizes that he's in the process of being used.

"There's an in class essay," he says quietly, and then gets even quieter by not talking. Brendon hesitates, seems on the verge of saying something, and goes back to his cake. It's awkward and quiet and Brendon realizes what he's been trying to do, it's quite obvious at this point, and Ryan who is so incredibly exhausted leans back against the wall behind him except there's no wall. He's on a damn bench.

Brendon doesn't notice Ryan go ass backwards onto the floor at first, but certainly does when Ryan lets out a little cry and immediately starts laughing as though this is the funniest thing that's ever happened. Brendon turns, automatically concerned, and sees Ryan half curled on his side on the ground, laughing like a maniac. Brendon doesn't see him laugh often, no, usually he's pretty uptight and serious and he doesn't even smile that much anymore but Ryan's in a completely ridiculous mood and flips over onto his chest and laughs face down onto the ground. It makes Brendon smile a bit, to see Ryan like this, to see Ryan seem so uncharacteristically happy.

"You alright, Ross?" He asks, and Ryan says something all muffled through the floor. "Is the in class essay today?" Brendon continues, and Ryan rolls himself back over. Eyes all teared up.

"No!" He says, and bursts out laughing again. That calms Brendon down, and he allows himself to laugh with Ryan for a short while until the students from the first bus arrive and Brendon goes off to talk to a basketball player named Jack while Ryan picks himself off the floor with no one to smile at. Maybe that's why he needs Patrick so much. He's someone to smile at.

\--

Patrick doesn't show up to lunch which isn't a surprise at all and Ryan doesn't want to eat with the Russian girls again so he heads down to the basement near the science hall in hopes to see Frank again because, as said, Ryan has no friends. And it's hard, really, it is. These days he's feeling more numb and disassociated than anxious, which is great except it's not.

Frank is down there, thank god, a binder open on his lap and his head bowed over the work that he's doing.

"Hey." Ryan says. His voice cracks. Frank looks up and smiles when he sees Ryan.

"What's up?" He asks, shoving his bag over on the dingy stairs that lead up to a secret exit so Ryan can sit. "Skipping?" He questions, and Ryan shakes his head.

"It's lunch." Frank nods, thinking of Ryan introducing himself by having "uh, no friends?" Ryan sits down a step above Frank, to his side, and leans against the railing next to him. He could just fall asleep right now. Frank goes back to his homework, it looks like math, while Ryan sort of drifts off a little bit.

"Napping, are we?" Ryan pulls his tired head back up and tilts it back, a sigh building up in his lungs. "Go for it man, I'll wake you up when the bell rings." A random thought crosses Ryan's mind, about how Frank can hear the bell down here. But Ryan doesn't trust Frank enough to fall asleep right next to him, shakes his head, and proceeds to put his head between his knees as though he's going to be sick. Frank goes back to his work and they sit in silence for a while. Ryan nearly falls asleep about every ten seconds, and when Frank tells him that the next block is starting while he packs up his binder and papers, Ryan falls while trying to get up and ends up on his ass at the bottom of the stairs, not at all in a laughing mood anymore.

Frank watches him with a worried expression on his face. He extends a hand to Ryan and pulls him up once Ryan grabs it. Ryan feels like he's going to fall over at any moment, he's never gone this long without sleep before, and Frank's warm eyes are far too concerned.

"Okay, maybe you should skip." Ryan shakes his head 'no' again but Frank isn't having it. "We'll skip, okay? Together?"

"I have to be here after school." Ryan says. Talking feels weird, like there's cotton in his mouth. He realizes that he only has to be there after school to see if Brendon's going to join for detention again. He's that desperate.

"Well, you can come back after school. Come on, Ryan. Let's go." They go upstairs to the main science hallway for maybe one minute before Ryan follows Frank down another staircase that leads to an exit door right outside to the main road by the back of the school. Frank darts across the four lanes like it's no big deal but Ryan gets caught up in the median and hides his face as cars pass by. Frank's yelling now and Ryan turns around to see someone getting out of the cop car that's always parked by that side of the school.

They are skipping school. And that damned cop isn't happy.

Without thinking, Ryan stumbles out into the other two lanes of the highway and Frank's yelling is heightened and Ryan has honestly nearly gotten hit by a car that honks at him so loud that he hightails it across the rest of the road to meet Frank, who's sprinting down the street in a frenzy. Ryan takes off after him, forgetting how tired he is.

Ryan turns the corner after Frank and sees him run into McDonalds so Ryan follows him and, fucking depth perception again, slams into the clear door because it says pull and Ryan pushed. It takes him longer than he feels comfortable with to get his bearings back, but when he does, he slips inside and collapses on the other side of the booth that Frank's in. They're both breathing hard and sweating.

"Nice going, Ryan." Frank says, but he smiles. "I'll buy you coffee, how about it?"

\--

Ryan can't believe that he goes back to school after him and Frank loiter in McDonalds for about two and a half hours. They get more and more fries and drink more and more iced coffee until both of them feel quite sick and Frank and Ryan check their respective watches to see that it's three o'clock.

"I've gotta split." Says Frank, sliding out of the booth, dragging his bag behind him. "You going home?" He asks Ryan, who just shrugs. They leave together but head in opposite directions. Ryan really doesn't mind Frank too much at all. Crossing at the crosswalk like a civilized person, Ryan walks back into the school like he hadn't just sprinted out of it a few hours prior and also nearly died. All the coffee and fries in him make him feel a little ill, and so does walking by the library to see Brendon Urie not in it.

Still, he checks the library floor to ceiling and wall to wall to make sure that Brendon isn't hiding or something but he's skipping, again, and Ryan walks himself back out to the playground. Maybe he'll actually sleep on the playground tonight. He wonders if his parents notice that he hasn't been home for a while.

Ryan's about to doze off up on the play structure, it's thankfully Friday so the little kids all get to go straight home today, when he hears his name. Sort of.

"Hey, Ross!" Brendon sounds sort of mad and that puts Ryan on edge. Said Brendon is striding across the basketball court, straight towards Ryan, who's book is open on his lap. Sleepily sitting back up, Ryan squints at Brendon who is really coming right towards him and now Ryan is fully awake.

"Hi?" He squeaks, pushing himself back against the structure as Brendon swings himself up right next to him. He smells nice, and Ryan hates himself a bit for noticing it.

"You weren't in the library!" Brendon exclaims, dumping his bag next to him and crossing his legs. Ryan guesses that he's not going anywhere.

"Neither were you." Ryan answers.

"Well the only reason I don't skip detention is because you're there to spend time with." Brendon defends, and Ryan feels his face heat up as soon as Brendon speaks the words.

"I'm not any fun." Ryan says, sort of pathetically, like he's trying to come up with a reason for Brendon not to be there.

"You are so totally fun, Ross. You're good to be around." Brendon says, and Ryan's insides implode a little bit. While he's stuttering around for an answer, Brendon snatches his book off the gridded floor of the structure.

"What's this about?" He asks, leaning back and tilting his head up in the dying sun. He looks absolutely stunning in the afternoon golden light and Ryan feels goosebumps prickle his skin. It only takes Ryan a second to realize that Brendon has grabbed his book about goddamned flowers, for christ's sake, and is smiling happily as he examines it.

"Flowers! You garden?" Ryan shrugs and holds his hand out for the book back. Brendon gives it to him without much of a hassle. "My mom loves to garden." Brendon says knowingly. "She's big into sunflowers. Actually kind of obsessed with them, really. I don't mind. They're pretty." Ryan wants to come up with something like "you're pretty" but instead he sits there all stupid and doesn't realize that he loves the sunflower house and he loves Brendon Urie and Brendon's mom loves sunflowers.

A cycle.

"Just come to the library after school, okay? I know you always do." Brendon smiles at Ryan as he gets up and pulls his bag over his shoulder. "And get some sleep, maybe."


	5. Chapter 5

Turns out, Ryan's parents did notice and care greatly that their son hasn't been home for the past two nights. He hasn't expected them to at all and his reappearance at home isn't exactly taken well by them.

His mom cries. She cries often about little things and gets worked up almost every single day except Ryan hadn't seen her at all yesterday, a welcome break, and now she's crying even more. On about how he's her son, doesn't matter if he's seventeen or seven, he has to be home every night or else tell them where he's going, how she called Patrick's dad to see if Ryan had been there and when the answer back had been no- well. Ryan doesn't exactly figure out what happens after that because she dissolves into even more tears and he watches her with a sort of half disgusted, half blank look on his face.

His dad gets mad. Ryan's family is ridiculously predictable and it's even easier to tune the shouts of his dad out except if he gets physical, throwing things or trying to start a damn push fight with Ryan. Which he doesn't, this time, he just yells. Ryan tunes him out and ends up in his room, not sleeping again.

He sits next to the window, cheek pressed against the freezing glass. His cheek is ice against it and his breath fogs up. He counts the stars and Patrick's voicemails as they build up on his phone. Neither of them matter too much, and Ryan can't fall asleep for the life of him. It hurts too much at four in the morning, and he finally calls Patrick back with tears freezing on his face.

"I'm sorry." Is the first thing Patrick says when he picks up, and Ryan can hardly breathe.

"I am too."

"My dad is fucking crazy," Patrick breathes, and his voice shakes so hard over the line.

"Where are you?"

"Hamilton." Patrick chokes out, naming one of the parks in their town. Ryan looks out at the night sky that isn't even beginning to warm up with the sunshine.

"Come over." He says, moving out of the stiff position that he's spent all night in. He's sore from running earlier, just shows how little physical activity he gets, and starts pacing circles around his room. He always does it while he's on the phone. It's like he has to.

"Can I?" Patrick asks, and his voice is so desperate. Ryan knows that he didn't call for Ryan to provide a place for him to stay tonight. Ryan knows that he called because he's a good person. More mature than Ryan, in a way, and Ryan thinks down the phone.

"Of course."

"Thank you, thank you, Ry." Ryan doesn't reply to that, doesn't know why, and nods as if Patrick can see him.

"I'll see you soon."

\--

Patrick's shaking when he shows up at Ryan's house in only jeans and a t-shirt, and he wipes hard at his eyes when he steps inside. Once in Ryan's room, he crashes on a beanbag chair that had been donated to Ryan by a family friend who had gone off to college. It's become Patrick's chair, and he sinks down into it while Ryan throws a blanket at him.

Ryan perches on his bed, the same places they always take, and watches Patrick. Ryan's never seen him this worked up before.

He's mad, Ryan can tell that, but he's not mad enough to say anything about it. Just the way that he sits, shaking, and not from the cold anymore. Maybe because he's scared, maybe because he's mad, but he's so silent and Ryan doesn't know what to do to break it up.

"What'd he do now?" Patrick's knee is banging against the floor as he bounces his leg, and now he's taking beanbags out of the chair through a rip in it one by one by one, though Ryan doesn't mind at all.

"He just." Patrick says in a tense, curt voice. "He." His sentences are really getting less and less coherent and Ryan doesn't want to push for an answer but he's curious, honestly, and Patrick's beanbag ripping is getting more and more violent by the second. "So I was- I was. Out. With Pete, y'know?" Ryan nods, hates Pete a little in his heart, but listens. That's what friends do. "And we were." Patrick pauses, thinks over his words in his head, he's trying. Ryan knows that he barely gets like this anymore, but when he's really upset or nervous those words come out mangled and stuttered and Patrick's still ripping at the beanbag, angry.

"You're fine." Ryan says in this bad attempt to calm Patrick, whose mouth is tense and he's trying so hard but Ryan doesn't know what he's trying to say. Like middle school presentations where Patrick worked up a false courage to go to the front of the room and stutter his sorry way through a presentation while people snicker and feel sorry for him in the backs of their minds.

"We were smoking." Patrick gets out, the word loud. He breathes, almost heavily, and looks at the beanbags in his hands that aren't shaking so hard anymore. "Smoking pot. And usually, I guess I'd stay the night with him. But he had to go home, come down, family stuff, I guess." Ryan thinks about Pete's family and wonders how they are. Wonders how fucked up they are, probably, how they treat him.

"Yeah." Keeps the conversation going.

"And then I had to go home high." Patrick doesn't seem very high but maybe that's why his eyes are red. Or why he's acting so odd- Ryan thought weed was supposed to calm you down but maybe Patrick's magic and full of different chemicals and this is why he's being weird.

"And your dad-?" Patrick's dad doesn't like alcohol, doesn't like drugs, doesn't like anything that could kill Patrick. Doesn't want him ending up six feet underground to spend more time with his mom.

"Got. Really mad." Patrick chokes out. He doesn't seem to have any visible bruises but sometimes it doesn't have to be like that. Doesn't have to be bruises. Words are enough sometimes.

"What'd he do?" It doesn't seem just like words this time because Patrick's words are getting caught in his throat again and he makes a sound, hardly, and squeezes one of the beanbags until it broke.

"He took my door off again." But again means there's something else and Ryan feels so bad, he hurts for Patrick because they're in fucking high school and privacy is necessary and Ryan hates to imagine Patrick sitting alone in his room with no door on it, terrified to speak a word or make a single move for fear of what his father will do. "And then he threatened to kill me." The way Patrick says it is so emotionless and casual that Ryan almost feels like he hadn't even spoken the words. "He was serious." Patrick finishes and then he's back to ripping up beanbag bits and Ryan is staring at him.

"Jesus christ." Is all Ryan can say in this low voice that really doesn't provide much comfort.

"And you know..." Patrick starts, eyes locked with Ryan's carpet. "I wish he just would."

"Pat-"

"No, no Ryan, no." Patrick's eyes are red and his voice is shaky, he's so fucking mad and Ryan hasn't even realized the full extent of it. "He keeps threatening to off me and he doesn't even have the balls to, do you realize that? Maybe if I just offed myself he'd be a lot fucking happier-"

"Patrick, no!" Ryan exclaims, selfish as hell, thinking only about how he'd be affected if Patrick died. Patrick doesn't deserve to die. Ryan would switch their lives in a heartbeat. "Don't say that, okay, we don't have that much school yet and he won't be around after high school, right, and he's not going to kill you-"

"But you don't get it, Ryan!" Patrick shouts, more frustrated than Ryan has ever heard him. "He wants me dead, he does, he wishes I'd never been born! It's not like he's just being mean, Ryan, he's dead serious!" Dead serious.

\--

Both of them doze a bit in Ryan's room, though Ryan gets significantly less sleep than Patrick because he's up worrying if his parents had heard them talking, well, shouting at each other, and if they're going to burst into his room at any moment.

They don't, but still. He's worried. Always, always worried, and it's killing him. It makes him want to off himself, just like Patrick. Maybe they can do it together.

But Patrick wakes up before sunrise, blinking hazy eyes from where he's curled against Ryan's bookshelf, beanbag chair wrapped up in his arms. It's very silent in Ryan's room of astronomical dawn, and Ryan just watches Patrick as he sits, looking almost frozen.

"Wow." He says in a rough voice, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. "Did I really yell at you last night?" Patrick asks Ryan, looking up at him with those wounded, guilty eyes.

"Well you had a reason to, so I'm not going to accept any apologies." Ryan slides forward off of his bed and Patrick stands up, shaky on his feet, looking around Ryan's dark room with a wild sort of jerkiness to his motions.

"I've-I've got to go home. Now." Patrick's wild eyes meet Ryan's steady ones, it's not even seven in the morning on a Sunday and they're standing in the dark of Ryan's bedroom, facing off like it's the night before all over again.

"Okay." Ryan says, he's not going to fight or anything, but he still glances around his room. "You need a hoodie or something, you're gonna freeze-"

"No." Patrick's voice cracks on the word. "I don't want my dad knowing I've been here, then he'll be after you-" He's interrupted by Ryan tossing his own hoodie at him, something that Patrick carelessly left at Ryan's house before. Patrick untangles the thing like he doesn't know what it is, and stares at the garment like it's something he's never seen before. "Okay." He says very quietly, and holds the hoodie up to his face, breathes in, smiles. "It smells like you." He says, and Ryan watches, not knowing what to say. Or what to think. He's not good at comforting people, not even his best friend, and he's selfish and this is Patrick, nice Patrick, calm Patrick, Patrick that Ryan loves.

Patrick who's putting on a hoodie that smells just like Ryan Ross and Patrick who tiptoes down the hall and down the stairs of Ryan's house, Patrick who still watches his breath fog up in the chilly fall air outside with a sort of childlike wonder.

They're just kids.

They're juniors in high school, apparently the most difficult year to get through, and this is what they've got to deal with, parents threatening to kill them and wanting to kill themselves and never being happy. Except when they're high or feeling like they don't exist. Patrick and Ryan have their own ways of getting by.

Ryan lives on a hill and they walk down into the main part of their tiny town as the sun drags itself back up over the horizon. Ryan pays ample attention to the colors of the sky as they change with the arrival of the sun, but he doesn't comment. They walk slowly downtown as the sky lightens to blue, just another day, just everything being normal and fine and perfect.

They get caught up in the farmer's market on the way and they end up with a bag of mini donuts and a quart of cold apple cider between them. Maybe it's a way to keep Patrick from leaving too soon, having to go home wearing a hoodie that smells like Ryan to sit in a room with no door because why could he do that when he could sit around and eat donuts and talk about life with his friend? His best friend, that's what Ryan used to be. Supposes, he still is, him and Patrick know each other well but it sort of scares Ryan to think that he's got the pressure of being someone's best friend on him.

That pressure is morphed into something else, though. They're sat on a bench on one of the main streets downtown, one that bisects the street that Patrick's apartment is on, with the cider and the donuts in between them, Ryan's legs crossed, in silence. Until Patrick breaks it by saying-

"I think I love Pete." Which takes Ryan's ridiculous anxious pressure and twists it into red hot jealousy that burns through his bones and comes out of his body in a breath of steam into the bitter fall air.

"What does it feel like?" Ryan breathes out, trying to act like his heart is being crushed a bit. Because he doesn't want to be someone like Pete to Patrick, he just doesn't want to be replaced by Pete.

"It's like when you have a crush, right? Like you with Brendon, or whatever." Patrick says casually and Ryan blushes. "Like you get all nervous and sappy and stupid except it's like, warm. And you don't feel awkward around them. You feel... you feel right." Ryan wants to feel warm and right with Brendon Urie and not like an awkward stupid sappy fuck who can't speak proper English or do anything right.

"That's a good way to put it. I'm glad you love him." Ryan says, and Patrick smiles into the air as he thinks about Pete and it's cute, it's ridiculously fucking cute, but Ryan can't help but feel the reminder of those jealous and angry feelings wrapped around his heart inside him. Ryan hates lying to his friends.

\--

It's maybe sometime after noon and after hanging around in the garden store for far too long, Ryan has ended up in a dusty bookstore with books piled floor to ceiling, lining the walls, with the bright midday light lighting up the dust particles that float around aimlessly. He's sitting on the carpeted floor at the back, reading. He's reading a book about cops and why the police force has become so militarized these days, it's radically interesting, and he's trying to get the whole thing read before the day is out so he doesn't have to buy it and doesn't have to come back to finish it off later.

He's shifted so his back is against a bookshelf and his legs are out in front of him, bent at the knee, and he'd look idyllic if he could see himself. Luckily, someone else can.

"Ross!" Exclaims a happy voice and Ryan drops his book on cue, body curling back into a sitting position, and it's fucking Brendon and he's lost the page in his book. "What's up?" Brendon asks in that way he always does, a bright smile on his handsome face and Ryan feels his heart literally pounding away in his throat.

"Nothing much, um. Hi." Ryan scrapes himself off the floor, book in his shaking hands, face immediately hot and palms immediately sweaty because that's Brendon right there, beaming like he knows just how much Ryan hates talking to him.

"What'cha reading?" Brendon asks, leaning casually back against a bookshelf in this hot way that makes Ryan want to die a bit. A strand of Brendon's dark brown hair has fallen over his eyes and in the filtered warm yellow sunlight, looking like that, well, Ryan could just about keel over and drop right fucking dead.

"Uh, it's called Rise of the Warrior Cop. It's nonfiction, y'know, it's about, like, why the police force is so militarized... um, these. Days." Brendon nods, looking impressed, and then laughs.

"I'd never read that in my entire life." He laughs and Ryan takes no offense at all. "You're a damn genius, Ross." Ryan blushes bright red and ducks his head like some kind of sorry emo kid who uses their bangs to hide the fact that they're a sorry excuse for a human being. "It's weird that I haven't seen you in here before." Brendon continues, and then Ryan is confused.

"Do you... you work here?" He asks, hair back out of his face.

"Sure do." Brendon says, looking around. "'S a bit empty right now." He says with a sarcastic looking smile.

"Don't you hate reading?" Ryan asks, and Brendon nods earnestly.

"Yeah, but money is money, right? Have you got a job, Ross?" He walks backwards as he talks like he's trying to lure Ryan out of that peaceful back corner and Ryan follows mindlessly back to the main part of the store, probably where Brendon's supposed to be.

"Nah..." Ryan answers, feeling a bit pathetic. "I'm not big on... money."

"You're the first person I've ever heard to say that." Brendon replies, laughing, he has such a nice, sweet, clean laugh that makes Ryan want to laugh and smile and be alive and his, just. He watches Brendon, his bright eyes and his warm smile and the curve of his lips and the bridge of his nose and maybe Ryan does love him. Except you can't love someone who won't even address you by your first name.

"Buying anything?" Brendon asks, sidestepping a pile of books and placing himself behind the counter, sliding his elbows across it and leaning over it to smile up at Ryan.

"Um." Ryan says, a blush warming on his cheeks, and Brendon rolls his eyes.

"Sorry, forgot the 'not big on money thing'. Are you leaving now?" Brendon asks, almost desperately, like he actually wants Ryan there. And it's not like Ryan doesn't want to be there, it's just that Ryan hates feeling like he's always on the verge of majorly embarrassing himself.

"I mean. I don't have anywhere to be, I mean..."

"You want to hang out?" Brendon asks and Ryan's eyes widen as his heart sort of just implodes painlessly inside his chest. "My shift is over in, like-" he checks the time on his phone, his phone, Ryan wants his phone number "-ten, twelve minutes so you can like, finish your book or whatever and then we can like... go somewhere, or something." Neither of them are exactly eloquent but Brendon makes the words sound better even though they're not exactly sure of themselves and Ryan finds himself nodding around the lump in his throat, wondering how he's supposed to get through the day without wildly and completely embarrassing himself.

"Yeah I- yeah. Sure. I can..." Ryan flips through the remaining pages of the book, averaging about there being twenty pages left to read. "Finish this fast, I guess."

"I'll leave you to it." Brendon says, pulls out a spreadsheet from under a pile of books, and starts filling in boxes while Ryan leans over the side of the wooden desk/counter thing and reads. Which lasts about two peaceful minutes before Brendon interrupts their calm silence and says-

"So you know Sean Spicer?" Which is kind of a chaotic thing to say and Ryan looks up at him with a smile on his face, ready to talk about Sean Spicer and not minding the interruption at all. "Sorry, shit, I'm ADHD, finish your book-"

"It's fine, really, what about Sean Spicer?" Ryan asks in his awkward voice and Brendon laughs a bit, checks his phone, looks around the store, and then looks back at Ryan. Ryan hates getting attention from Brendon Urie. Ryan fucking loves getting attention from Brendon Urie.

"We can go. I'd say. It's like five minutes, really, who cares if no one's here?" Brendon starts walking, tossing his keys in his hand, and Ryan follows, book left for dead on the counter. They leave through the jingling front door out into the sharp fall air and Brendon stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and starts talking and walking with this lovely ease to his words that Ryan loves.

"Do you ever realize that? Like, I can leave my shift five minutes early after no one's been in here all damn day but, like, what if? What if someone comes in those precious minutes that no one's there? It's, like, horrible. Worrying sucks." And Ryan feels that, yeah, Ryan feels that way every single day all the damn time because, yeah, what if? What if something bad happens? What if something goes wrong?

But all he can say is "yeah" and Brendon tosses his hair back as he walks in this really hot way and as they walk down the street in the sunlight towards god knows where, Ryan feels a bit like he's in a dream.

"So Sean Spicer." Brendon says.

"Sean Spicer." Ryan echoes.

"What the hell happened to him?" Ignorance is bliss.

"He quit back in July. Now we have Huckabee Sanders, whatever." They walk in silence for a second as Brendon registers, and then he's back.

"Oh! I saw a thread on Twitter about her! Lying bitch!" He exclaims and Ryan laughs and nods. And so they talk about politics until they reach a park where Brendon starts kicking around on a swing and Ryan joins him. Topics switch around and then they're having a competition of who can go higher, both of them pumping their legs and leaning their bodies forwards, hair blown around and cheeks red with wind.

As Ryan feels himself laughing breathlessly in the wind wake of a swing going way too fast, Brendon Urie right next to him, face bright in the yellow fall sunlight, he doesn't feel like he's in a dream. He feels awake. He feels completely alive.


	6. Chapter 6

Ryan walks home with a dopey dumb smile on his face and he's two blocks away from his house when he trips over the curb and falls into the back end of a stop sign.

He curls around it, hugging it from behind, laughing so hard that he ends up sliding down it like some sort of deranged stripper and then he sits on the floor, literally curled over the stop sign, face pressed against it, laughing so hard that he's crying.

The sun sets fully as he sits like that, until the cool of the stop sign against his face and the fact that the sky had fully darkened up all came together and Ryan pulls himself up against the stop sign, pats it lovingly, and finishes the walk home.

Still with the dumb smile plastered to his face.

He sort of runs down his street to get home, not because he wants to get home, just because he wants to run. He sprints through the blue back darkness, feet pounding against the concrete, arms pumping by his sides, heartbeat in his throat, breath hot in his mouth, feeling like he's spread over the entire street because he's ran down it so fast until his house is close and his running tapers off into slower, heavy footsteps until he's just walking. Panting and walking.

He's flushed and sweaty opening the door to his house, and all the good feelings are sort of stripped away when he sees his mom standing in the entryway, arms crossed, looking relatively upset.

"Where have you been?" She demands in a high pitched, strained voice.

"I...I was hanging out with Patrick and then I went to the bookstore. What's wrong?" He asks, looking around and realizing that thank god his dad isn't home.

"What's wrong is that you're never home, Ryan! Not coming home at night, not being here in the mornings- what's going on? Why aren't you ever home?" Ryan feels like he can't reply because home used to be safe, home used to be fine, but now he'd so much rather be out being jealous with Patrick or being gay with Brendon or just being somewhere else even though there are so many more dangers outside.

"I'm just..." His mom stares at him, desperate, tears forming in her tired eyes. "I don't know. I'll be home more." He says as though that fixes anything and when he's trying to walk past his mom, she smacks him.

Well, okay.

Ryan raises a hand to his hot cheek, red with the mark of her hand, and stares in disbelief.

"You're horrible!" His mom sobs, holding the hand that just slapped her son up to her mouth. "You don't even care about how I feel! How your father feels!" The thing is, Ryan doesn't. He turns away with his face stinging, leaving his mother alone downstairs, the smile from only a few minutes earlier long gone.

\--

Ryan is surprised when he sees Patrick standing outside the sign for the church on Monday morning. It's cold and Ryan can see his breath in the frozen air, and he can see Patrick's breath too. Lots of it. Because Patrick is talking to someone.

Ryan hears Pete before he sees him, and really, Ryan doesn't hate his voice. It's warm, it's energetic, and he's got bad grammar and he is sort of dumb but Patrick sounds so happy talking to him and Ryan hates slinking up behind them to third wheel in the activity of waiting for him.

"Oh, hey Ryan." Pete says, looking up at him. He's leant against the sign outside the church that reads the times of mass and something about a Thanksgiving food drive, and straightens his short self up, rubbing at his arms a little bit. Patrick is wearing his jacket, and Ryan wants to puke.

"Hey." Ryan says quietly, and walks with them across the street.

"We're talking about taking a trip to DC." Pete states, and Ryan wonders why Patrick's never mentioned this to him. They live in the northernmost part of Virginia, right on the shaky borders to West Virginia and Maryland. Ryan hates it here but there's really nowhere he'd rather be, and he knows that he'd take this barren, boring countryside over Washington any day.

"Yeah?" Ryan asks, and Patrick looks away from him.

"Yeah, DC or Baltimore. But DC is closer. Just to have something to do, y'know." Patrick nods a bit and exchanges this glance with Pete that Ryan doesn't exactly understand as they climb the stairs to the school.

"Is there anything going on there?" Ryan asks in a hesitant voice, and Pete and Patrick exchange another look.

"Nah..." Patrick says, finally speaking up. "Just thought you'd know. We're going next weekend, so I won't be here. Then." It sounds so stiff and awkward and Ryan had thought that him and Patrick had made up but then there's this, what the hell? Ryan had assumed that Patrick had stopped waiting outside the church but when he does show up he's with Pete and they're going on a trip down south to a big city while Ryan will just hang out suffering by himself up here.

Which would be perfectly fine if not for the fact that he has gym with Patrick and Pete kisses him before they go. Ryan would want to puke a little bit except for the part that's it's a bit painstakingly cute and Patrick blushes bright red after Pete pulls back, says a little "bye", and disappears off down the hallway, tripping over his own feet. Patrick doesn't look at Ryan as they walk down the hall to the gym, Ryan can't stop thinking about how Patrick's in love, and how even a druggie dick like Pete will kiss him goodbye before they split for class.

Honestly, it's cute.

But so is Brendon and that smile he gives Ryan when him and Patrick walk into the gym. They're up in the bleachers, Brendon dutifully eating his cake and talking to his popular friends over at the bottom steps while Ryan and Patrick have come in on the other side and sit in the top right corner, up against the wall. Still, Patrick notices Brendon's quick grin directed at Ryan, and whirls around with this new attitude that hadn't been around only five minutes earlier.

"Are you guys talking?" Patrick asks, elbows on his knees and eyes wide. He can be a good friend when he tries.

"I mean.." Ryan says, already blushing furiously. "We, like, hung out yesterday. After you went home." Patrick gasps, being a little over dramatic, and Ryan isn't aware of himself falling for Patrick trying to make up for completely ignoring him yesterday.

"What did you guys do?"

"We went to the park and talked and... swung." It feels so cliche, sitting at the top of the bleachers, talking about boys and hanging out with boys and swinging with boys and Ryan loves boys, really, girls don't make much sense to him at all. They're sort of ridiculously bitchy and the good majority of them are dangerous, with their hair and their lips and their minds, they all sort of terrify Ryan in their own unique way, and he's perfectly content with Brendon Urie. A male.

Brendon Urie looks worse and better at the same time on the soccer field when he's saving Ryan's sorry ass while playing a sport that doesn't exactly work with Ryan.

The main problem is that Patrick constantly complains about his chronic migraines to the coach, who then lets him off with sitting in the bleachers because if Patrick is forced into doing P.E., he will, without a doubt, use his superb acting skills to make puking noises until the girls who are scared of vomit start complaining, and then he'll be sent back to the bleachers. Either way, Patrick gets off without having to make a fool of himself on the soccer field while Ryan is left to his own devices, which involve having bad foot brain coordination, being gay, and embarrassing himself.

And Brendon Urie doesn't even play soccer.

The school knows him as the star pitcher for the school's varsity baseball team, and there had been a huge scandal the previous year for him leaving the team for reasons that had never really been uncovered. Rumors had gone around that he was sick and was going to die, that his grades were shit and he couldn't play until he got them up, that he had been caught smoking weed in the dugout after a late night practice- there were many ideas. Ryan hadn't taken part in coming up with rumors to ruin Brendon's otherwise clean reputation, but he had wondered.

He had seen Brendon play baseball. He had seen Brendon's arm and wrist twist over his shoulder as he pitched, the way he cleared dust off the mound before he threw, the nods and head shakes he exchanged with the catcher. Watching him bat was infinitely less exciting, with his face blocked by the helmet. He wore neon green batting gloves and there was maroon batting tape wound up along the grip of his blue and white Easton bat. All the colors clashed and he wasn't too good at hitting but Ryan would still get a kick out of it- the way Brendon would stride up to the plate, the way he would spin the bat by the knob of it as he stepped up, the way he carefully aligned his feet with the plate, and the way his tense arms would turn with his waist as he swung at a ball, no matter if he hit them all or not.

Brendon looks good playing soccer, though.

It's chilly outside, the sky a solid blue, and Brendon is racing down the field, dribbling the ball wildly, passing it to Josh. Josh really plays soccer and knows how to play well outside of P.E., though Ryan's attention isn't on him. Ryan's attention is on the fact that Brendon and Josh haven't managed to score and the ball is coming back Ryan's way. Just Ryan's way.

He's been standing in the same sideline on the field for the past seven minutes, holding his breath and hoping that no one will kick the ball in his direction and scream at him.

"Ryan!" Dreams really don't come true. Some kids on his team are waiting for him to get the ball and pass it to them and no one else is going to run over and save him, it's not even hard, but Ryan finds himself watching his life flash before his eyes as the soccer ball flies towards him at this alarming pace.

Except there's the fact that Brendon is also flying towards him at an alarming pace. He's chasing the ball and comes up on it, grins at Ryan, twists it under his feet, and heads back towards the goal.

"Fuck, Ryan, just get off the field if you can't play the damn game!" Some jock shouts at Ryan as Josh scores and starts screaming as though they're in the World Cup instead of gym class. Brendon jogs up to the middle of the pitch and Ryan can't stop staring, god, he's so pretty. With that hair and those eyes and those lips and the way he can even pull off that P.E. uniform while Ryan's is baggy and makes him look a bit like a trash bag.

"Not into soccer, Ross?" Brendon asks as he approaches Ryan, who feels like he's really ascending to heaven.

"Not... not really, actually. If you hadn't noticed." Ryan laughs awkwardly, face bright red, hating himself. "I, um, thank you. For stealing the ball. From me." The coach has dismissed them after getting bored and Brendon has started walking back inside with Ryan trailing him.

"No problem, dude. Yesterday was fun, y'know? We should hang out more." As soon as he says that, Josh is calling out to him, and Brendon smiles at Ryan before he dashes off towards Josh, talking loud. Ryan is left standing behind him, a little dazed. Maybe he is in love.

\--

"Do you guys know Brendon Urie?"

Ryan is sat at lunch again with Frank and Gerard, who are busy gossiping and on and off playing The Used. The lunch monitor who hawks people for cutting in line and tries to make sure that no one cuts class during lunch by slipping out a side door keeps hovering around them and telling them to off their music but Gerard is really jamming to All I've Got while Frank is busy pulling the crusts off his sandwiches.

"We don't interact with underclassmen." Frank jokes, finally deeming his sandwich edible and biting into the side of it.

"He's a junior..." Ryan starts, but Gerard cuts him off.

"Yeah, he's in my enviro class. What about him?"

"Why does he take enviro? He's in earth science with me." Gerard shrugs and switches the tune to Cobra Starship. God, he's so fucking emo.

"Why're you wondering about him?" Gerard asks, bopping his head back and forth. Ryan says nothing because he's stupid and Frank takes one curious glance at his face before he barks out a laugh.

"You've got a crush!" He exclaims, and Ryan tries to hold back a smile at the table. "Oh Ryan, what do you want to know?" Frank continues, tongue between his teeth in a grin. Really, Ryan likes Frank. They hang out at the bottom of the stairs between classes, and during them sometimes, and Ryan's getting so used to having him around that he can't even start to think about Gerard and Frank graduating as seniors in May when Ryan gets out in June and doesn't want to think about being alone next year because, fuck, making friends in higher grades never has a good payoff.

"Do you know if he's... gay?" Ryan asks quietly, and Gerard's expression turns sympathetic.

"Oh, Ryan. He's a straight up mormon, man, he's not coming out soon." Ryan stares at him, wondering if he's joking or not.

"He's a mormon?" He repeats, to Frank and Gerard's obvious amusement.

"You didn't know?" Frank asks, cut off by Gerard's-

"It's kind of obvious, man. That's why he was pulled off the baseball team last year, because he had some sort of after school mass or some shit. Church over school, y'know."

"That's why he's in school so early all the time. Bible study before class." Frank adds in, and Ryan is sort of wondering why they know all this, but now everything has been cleared up. That's probably why his mom is pregnant too, man, mormons really know how to go at it. God, this really is new information.

"Well, that doesn't mean he can't be gay." Ryan sort of protests, hoping for the best.

"Yeah, but you're not going to be finding out anytime soon." Gerard returns, and then then no one replies and they sit and listen to Trace Cyrus sing "Shake It" until the lunch monitor starts back over towards them and Gerard pauses the song.

"But how can I find out? I want to find out." Ryan says, leaning a bit over the table. Frank raises his eyebrows at him and Ryan realizes that he sounds a little (a lot) desperate, so he adds- "I mean, I'm just curious. It's not like I have a chance with him." Gerard scoffs at that.

"You're cute, Ryan. You have a chance-"

"If he's gay." Frank cuts in. "Which he might not be. You shouldn't get your hopes up." He exchanges a knowing glance with Gerard, who quietly says-

"The heart wants what it wants." Ryan sighs and slouches over on the table. 'I'd Do Anything' by Simple Plan, quite ironically, starts playing, and then Gerard adds. "I'll try to find out for you."

\--

"Hey, Ryan!" It's the next morning and Ryan is minding his own damn business walking into school without Patrick when Pete fucking Wentz calls his name. Ryan doesn't like Pete saying his name like it's any of his business.

"Yeah?" Ryan asks, infuriated because he's almost to the doors of the school and Pete has forced him to stop walking so he has to stand a foot away from warmth out while he talks to Pete.

"Patrick told me to tell you that he switched out of your gym class." That's all it takes for Ryan's heart to drop right out of his ass, and he stares at Pete with wide eyes. There's a pressure in his chest that's miraculously appeared and winds down around to his stomach; it makes Ryan feel a bit like puking. Pete says his goodbyes and walks off the way he came with his shoulders hunched against the cold and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jackets. Patrick is probably skipping school with him, and Ryan hates that thought as he glides into school, feeling sort of like he's not existing.

Brendon isn't in the gym when Ryan walks in, and he sits against the wall and stares at the gym mats rolled up on the other side until their coach walks in. Halfway through his explanation of how to play basketball, Brendon comes in through the side door, head down.

"Mr. Urie! How kind of you to join us!" The coach exclaims, turning on Brendon, who, frankly, looks a bit fed up. He doesn't have his cake with him. Brendon ignores him, heading to sit over near Josh, but the coach stops him. "No note?" Brendon isn't holding the trademark pink slip from the office that excuses late arrivals. Brendon shrugs and continues on his way to Josh, bag dangling down from his shoulder.

Ryan trails him into the locker room. It's awkward now that Patrick isn't with him. He has no one to talk to now that Patrick is gone, and has to resort to trying not to look at Brendon while he changes. No such fucking luck.

"Hey, Ross." Brendon is walking over with no shirt on and Ryan is honestly about to piss himself.

"Hi." Ryan barely breathes. He's leaned against the wall, trying to die his damn shoelaces, but he isn't getting anywhere because Brendon is trying to turn his gym uniform shirt right side out and Ryan keeps falling over.

"So, english test tomorrow, right?" Brendon asks, and Ryan nods as he triple knots the lace on his shoe as an excuse to not have to look directly at Brendon. He thinks that'll just kill him. "Can you, like, I dunno. Do you want to study? After school?" Ryan finally looks up because his shoes are tied so tight that his feet might lose feeling or something, and this is another invitation from Brendon Urie. One that Ryan isn't going to fucking pass up for anything.

"Yeah! Yeah, yeah. Sure. Yeah. I made a study guide. It's like, fifteen pages." Brendon smiles, and then pulls his shirt on.

"Good deal. You ready for basketball?" He asks, and Ryan doesn't hear that because he's just, well, staring at him. Brendon shakes his head and smiles and starts walking away, while Ryan is left standing there. Fucking starstruck.


	7. Chapter 7

Patrick shows up at Ryan's lunch for the first time in a while, and Ryan almost hates him for it. He had been planning on buying a cereal packet and a carton of chocolate milk and then sitting on the dusty basement stairs near the science hallway with Frank but walking into the cafeteria to see Patrick at the back of the lunch line really doesn't sit well with Ryan. Patrick looks up at Ryan as he walks up behind him, not really knowing what to say.

"Hey." Patrick says, voice hoarse.

"Where were you this morning?" Patrick looks confused and shuffles forward in the line.

"I thought Pete told you I was switching out of gym."

"Oh, he did. Where were you?" Patrick doesn't reply, and Ryan looks around, wondering if all of this pain is worth some cereal and chocolate milk. There's a hollow, painful feeling in his chest, and he really feels a bit tired and sort of dizzy and ready to just collapse, honestly. Another pause, and then Ryan ducks out of the line, walking fast, headed back toward the science wing. And he's halfway there before he hears his name being called halfheartedly.

"Ryan, please, come on." Patrick sounds fed up and tired, almost like his emotions match magically with Ryan's, Ryan who keeps walking. "Fuck, I'm sorry, okay?" His words come slowly like he's trying to think them out properly and really, he's probably high. Ryan turns around to walk backwards and he realizes that maybe Patrick is. His eyes are heavy and tinged reddish, and he's walking sort of jerkily, unsure of his steps.

"You were smoking this morning." Ryan says, unaware that his steps are getting slower and slower.

"I was." Patrick replies, capable enough to say that. Ryan shrugs, footsteps slow and unsure, still moving backwards. He turns around and pulls open the door to the steps down to the basement, taking them two at a time to the stairs where he and Frank sit except it's not only Frank down there.

It's Frank and a girl.

She's got pale skin and black hair except this isn't a goth guy that looks like a girl named Gerard, it's an actual girl who has her head tilted up and her lips wet against Frank's, they're making out on those stairs and Ryan stares, stock still. He doesn't know why, has no idea, but he had this idea that Gerard and Frank were a thing. And now Frank is making out with a girl on the stairs. Ryan leaves before he can get himself into more shit, and Patrick isn't in the hallway, thank god, except god can't exist if Ryan's life is getting this overwhelming this fast.

Jesus christ.

\--

"Why the hell are we doing a chemistry lab in earth science class?" Brendon asks Ryan. He's asked this question to Ashley, to the teacher, and he's repeated it maybe twice to Ryan, who is figuring out how to use the bunsen burner without lighting his sleeves on fire.

"Beats me." Ryan replies, twisting the collar at the bottom of the burner and pushing at the flint striker. They're in a chemistry lab room for more undisclosed reasons, science class isn't exactly planned out perfectly, and Brendon and Ryan have been assigned as lab partners to each other.

Ryan's actually sort of enjoying himself. This lab is exciting, they're lighting different parts of elements on fire to see what colors they produce and comparing their anions and cations to see how they relate to each other by period and group, except the thing is, Brendon is visibly exhausted and doesn't give a shit about this lab.

"I'm convinced that I took chemistry last year." Brendon whines, and Ryan finishes drawing up his perfectly straight lined data table on the back of a piece of scrap paper. "Ugghh." Brendon finishes, laying his head on top of his crossed arms on the desk while Ryan promptly ignores him.

"Is this chloride or carbonate?" Ryan asks, putting a beaker down in front of Brendon and going back to work with the striker. Brendon grudgingly picks his head back up at the desk and squints at the label on the beaker.

"Carbonate."

"Thanks." Ryan pushes hard at the striker, frustrated, and Brendon moves over to oh my god put his hands over Ryan's and moves them in the right positions.

"Here, hold it like this. On the edges." Brendon moves Ryan's hands over the striker, and then pushes them as he strikes up a flame. "Just hold it really hard, push really hard." Brendon removes himself from Ryan, who's just sitting there and sort of shaking. Brendon's watching him so he pushes hard at the striker and watches the sparks flame up under his hands. "There you go." Brendon says as he starts copying down Ryan's data table. Ryan twists the gas on and successfully lights a strong blue flame on the bunsen burner, and wastes no time in lighting up his elements.

"Whoa." Him and Brendon say in unison as one produces a pinkish red plume of flame through the generic blue of the fire of the burner. Ryan twists the wooden stick dripping with a liquid form of lithium back and forth under the fire, watching the purpley red fire dance back and forth. 

"That's my new favorite color." Brendon states, matter-of-fact, and writes down the color that the element produces. 'Purpel and red.' Ryan chooses to ignore the misspelling and moves on to a different element, while Brendon asks, "What's your favorite color, Ross?"

"Um." Ryan says, trying to think of a color to tell Brendon that isn't like, grey. "Yellow? I guess? Like, pastel yellow. It's nice." Brendon nods, takes another glance at Ryan's data table, and says-

"Here, can I light the things on fire? It's not fair if you do the whole lab. I don't get this anion, cation bullshit." Ryan doesn't exactly get it either, but he won't complain about having some of the work taken off of him. Turns out, Brendon isn't the worst lab partner to have.

"Yeah, sure." They switch spots and Ryan resorts to doodling flowers on his paper while Brendon oohs and aahs about the colors that the elements are making. He takes his time lighting the elements and making sure that they're an acceptable color for him to finally label. Once Brendon finally finishes, he jumps back into the spinny lab chair and hits Ryan with his legs as he spins, laughing.

"God, I'm so tired." He finishes, words not exactly connecting with his actions, moving back over to the desk and staring down at Ryan's paper, face suddenly serious. "Sunflowers?" He asks, pointing at Ryan's measly doodles.

"Yeah." Ryan answers quietly, copying down Brendon's data.

"Ross, let me tell you, I love sunflowers. They're, like, the best flowers. I grow them and everything out in the yard. They're everything I stand for. I work so hard on them, get all the right soil, right mulch, right amount of water, and sunlight, of course, the placement is the most important thing." Brendon rambles, while Ryan stares at the wall, digesting this information.

"You grow them?" He asks, the sunflower house clear in his mind. What if Brendon lives there?

"Yup." Brendon answers, and Ryan looks back at the doodles on his paper. Cations and anions seem to matter a lot less when the goddamned sunflower house might belong to the one and only Brendon Urie.

"Do you, uh, like, happen to live on the corner of.. um, Randolph?" Ryan asks, trying to make it sound casual, because he's not a stalker creep who finds out where his crush lives just for the fun of it. Either way, finding out where Brendon lives is a big accident. Brendon shoots him a sly, curious side glance.

"Yeah, I do." Ryan nods.

"I walk by your house on the way to school, I guess, I've seen the flowers. Really pretty." Ryan compliments, trying not to blush or anything, while Brendon smiles.

"Thanks!" He replies in a very bright voice, and hums a bit to himself. "I love sunflowers..."

\--

"Okay." Brendon says, throwing himself into a chair at the back of the library. "Quiz me." Ryan drops into his chair a little less gracelessly and pulls out his computer, ready to bring up his gigantic fucking study guide for The Catcher in the Rye, probably the easiest book he's ever read for a class, ever. "Not with that study guide," Brendon protests, waving a vague hand in Ryan's direction. "Just give me basic questions."

"Okay." Ryan replies, echoing Brendon from earlier. "Uh. What's Holden's sister's name?" Brendon stares at him blank faced.

"We need to know that?"

"Yeah." Both of them are silent, one of them waiting, the other thinking. Brendon sits back in the chair and runs his hands through his uncharacteristically fluffy hair.

"It starts with an 'F', right?" Ryan hesitates, because it kind of starts with an F, but doesn't.

"Sort of. It starts with an F sound." Brendon looks confused.

"What?"

"It doesn't start with an F, but it starts with an F sound." Ryan clears up, and Brendon looks ridiculously disgusted and frustrated at the same time.

"What the hell is her name?" Brendon demands.

"Phoebe." Brendon stares at Ryan, and then starts digging around in his bag. He produces a sharpie and proceeds to writing "Feebe" on his hand in scrawled writing and then showing it to Ryan, who writes "Phoebe" on his own hand. Brendon stares at it for a good while. "Have you even read the book?" Ryan asks, expecting an answer in the 'yes' variety but Brendon's silence is enough of an answer. "This test is literally a hundred points-"

"I listened to the audio book." Brendon protests, sitting back in his chair with a decidedly pouty look on his face. Ryan sighs and leans back in his own chair, wondering why Brendon is making it so hard to get positively anything done. "Can you just give me a run down of the plot?" Brendon asks, and Ryan decides he might as well.

"Right, well. It starts with Holden standing on top of some hill at his school. Pencey Prep, right?"

"Wait, wait." Brendon says while Ryan sighs again, watching Brendon pull his phone out of his pocket. "Can I record you?" Ryan stares at the phone and can't help but be a little excited at the proposition.

"Sure, yeah." Brendon places his phone on the little table in between them and Ryan starts talking with Brendon's dark eyes focused clearly on him.

\--

"See ya Ross, thanks for the help."

"Bye." Brendon smiles at Ryan before he breaks off down the hallway, bag over his shoulder. Ryan watches him walk down the stairs and out the door, not knowing what to do. The school has the dark, after hours feeling of emptiness that Ryan feels like he's almost emulating at that point. He moves outside slowly, watching his breath fog up in the purpley outside air that the early sunset brings.

"Hey, Ryan!" Calls a voice that Ryan's not entirely familiar with, and he raises his eyebrows as he turns to see Frank leaning against a car, grinning at him. Gerard is inside of it, radio blasting, and Ryan feels sick when he remembers Frank and the girl making out and seeing Frank against the side of the car with a sly grin on his face.

"Hi?" Ryan says, slowly stepping down the stairs of the school and wandering over towards Frank and Gerard.

"Want to come get Indian food with us?" Frank asks.

"Please get Indian food with us." Gerard pleads through the now-open window. Good Charlotte is playing through the radio and Ryan, a little sketched out but otherwise in a fairly good mood, decides that he'd much rather go with Frank and Gerard to get Indian food rather than go home and watch his mom cry. Even though he's told her that he'll start coming home regularly. Oh well.

"Yeah, alright." Ryan says, forgetting the meaning of the words for a moment, and drops into the backseat of Gerard's fucking ancient Pontiac Grand AM. There aren't seatbelts in the back, and when Ryan looks, there's half of a wooden ruler stuck in the buckle of the passenger seat, probably to keep it from beeping. Gerard is the only person with a seatbelt. There are burnt holes into the backseats of the car and the entire thing smells like cigarettes, although neither Frank or Gerard are smoking. The sky gets properly dark as they drive, and Ryan watches the taillights of everyone else driving down Route 267.

"You guys wanna go to Vegas?" Gerard asks, and Frank giggles and gives him a smile that Ryan sees lit up in the lights from the highway.

"Yeah, let's go to Vegas. You in, Ryan?"

"Yeah." Ryan chimes in quietly from the back.

"We'll be there in, maybe, thirty hours? Thirty, Frank?" Gerard asks, tapping his fingers on the wheel to Joel Madden's voice.

"Thirty to forty, I'd say." Frank replies, and Ryan leans his head back against the window, wondering where the fuck they're going.

They get there in about an hour and a half.

They're in Tysons, maybe about thirty minutes from Washington, outside a huge mall that's fucking closed. Frank, Gerard, and Ryan stand outside Gerard's car and stare up at their chosen anchor store of Bloomingdale's.

"There's Indian food here?" Ryan asks, and Gerard starts laughing like some sort of maniac. The sound of it builds up out of his lungs and escalates as the sound of it fills the otherwise eerily quiet air. Frank starts giggling as Gerard leans over onto his car and starts laughing all crazy, eyes closed and body shaking as he laughs. "What?" Ryan demands, wondering if he's done something wrong. "What?" He asks to Frank, who is doubled over, laughing with his face to the ground. "Guys!" Gerard collapses onto the ground, forehead pressed against the front bumper to his car, crying with laughter. Frank is on the way to joining him.

"We-" Frank stops, slowly lowering himself onto the ground, shaking with laughter. "We- there-" He cuts off, tilting his head back, and snorts out loud. Gerard loses it, shrieking against the car while Ryan stands there with a half confused smile on his face.

"There's Indian food here but the fucking mall is cloooosseedd," Gerard wails, leaning against Frank, who wraps his arms around Gerard and starts rocking him back and forth. They're literally parked in front of a Bloomingdales, on the ground of the parking lot, laughing and rocking bath and forth for no reason.

"We brought you here-" Frank cuts off and spits on the ground behind Gerard, who starts laughing hysterically. "So we wouldn't have to pay the tolls-" He collapses into Gerard's arms, and Ryan considers walking home.

\--

It's very quiet at Nandos.

They've decided that though the best Indian food in the world isn't available, the next best thing is. Frank is eating a bowl full of corn, Gerard is eating boneless chicken, and Ryan is eating french fries. And also his words. He's pledged never to speak to either Frank or Gerard again, who drove him fucking two hours to the closed Tysons mall just so they could escape the ridiculous beltway rush hour payment tolls. And now it's seven o'clock and Ryan's mom is probably killing himself while he sits over in NOVA, eating fries with two gay emo guys except one of them isn't even gay anymore.

Apparently.

"Ryan, I'll buy you iced tea if you keep being nice to us." Frank says, giving Ryan a pleading look. "Just water? Some Peri-Peri sauce to take home for the kids? A painting?" He gestures around at the art displayed on the walls. Ryan glares at him. Gerard is looking at him with those watchful, knowing eyes.

"Will you talk to me, Ryan?" Gerard asks, and Ryan is brought back to thinking about Frank and that girl in the stairs, making out like there was no tomorrow. And Ryan considers telling Gerard. Not like that, not in front of Frank, but at some point. Because with the way Gerard is watching Ryan, he obviously knows that Ryan isn't just pissed at Frank because of the whole toll situation. Ryan isn't that immature. He just keeps eating and Gerard and Frank stop with the bugging for a while.

They drive back while listening to a mix of Boys Like Girls and AFI. Ryan is beginning to get sick of Gerard's music taste.

"God, Ryan, I know that not getting Indian food can be a little upsetting-" Frank starts from the front seat.

"It's not about that." Ryan says in a cold tone, a voice that he never uses, which shuts Frank right up. The sideways, confused glance that Gerard gives Frank which is just replied to with a shrug is enough for Gerard to realize what's going on. When it's time to merge off of 495 and Gerard is occupied by being a safe driver, Frank turns around and makes solid, serious eye contact with Ryan.

The dark look that Ryan shoots him must speak volumes because Frank turns around with a pale face and turns up the music. They spend the rest of the ride home listening to 3OH!3 in silence.

\--

Gerard acts like a parent when he drops Ryan off at home, and hangs out in the car as he watches Ryan drag his feet up the stairs to his house. Which is quite a shame, because Ryan had sort of been planning on camping out in the bushes in the front yard because he's really done with dealing with his parents but oh well, Gerard and Frank are awkwardly watching him through the dirty windows of the car so Ryan just goes in.

No surprise, his mom is crying.

"Where have you been?" She wails. His dad isn't there, as per usual, and Ryan honestly has never been more relieved not to see his father.

"I went to Tysons with friends, mom, I'm sorry, I'll be home tomorrow night, I promise-"

"Don't make empty promises." She spits through his tears, and Ryan really can't be assed with this. He stomps upstairs and slams the door to his room and when he finishes with doing that, he realizes that this isn't him.

This has never been him. Angry has never been him.

He stands in his perfectly clean, perfectly boring room, and stares at the wall while he comes to a horrible revelation that he has no personality and doesn't know how to deal with anything and he hates himself, he really does, and he can't stand this at all. He makes his mom cry and he keeps secrets from Gerard and he makes Patrick mad at him and he, he, he's so angry. Why is he so fucking angry? Why is he acting like some terrible version of himself that isn't the way he should be, that is making everyone upset, that can't do anything right?

Fuck.

Ryan doesn't sleep again that night and rereads all of The Catcher in the Rye, not really as a means to study, just as a means to distract himself from doing literally anything else. Like thinking about Brendon.

He probably thinks too much about Brendon.

He definitely thinks too much about Brendon.

And Brendon's face is the first one he sees at school the next morning, in the back of the english classroom with his paper plate, plastic fork, and vanilla cake.

"Hey, Ross, let me tell you- yesterday was really helpful, actually. Thanks so much for that." Brendon says, and Ryan forgets about being pissy and mad at himself altogether when he blushes and gets into his desk the wrong way while Brendon watches with a very interested expression on his face.

"No, no problem. None at all." Ryan stammers out, hating himself for being a gay piece of shit who doesn't know how to talk. Class starts not long after that, Ryan is referred to as George, Brendon's friend Alex is called Alexander, Pete doesn't show up to class, the regular things, and then the tests are handed out.

Brendon raises his hand as soon as his is passed back, and their teacher narrows her eyes at him over her glasses.

"Yes, Brendon?" She asks in a terse voice.

"I need to go to the ESR." ESR is the educational support room where the 'needy' kids go (as Patrick calls them). Ryan glances over at Brendon, wishing he could have brought this up before class. He hates when people talk during tests.

"No, you don't." Their teacher says, and Alex sighs very loudly. "This is honors english, Brendon, I told you that you weren't getting any special treatment-"

"I have an IEP." Brendon protests. An IEP is an individualized education program, which is also for 'needy' kids, which is always what Patrick says, and Ryan is a little lost.

"You're staying here, Brendon." Alex turns around to look at Brendon with this worried face and is snapped at to keep his eyes on his paper, while Brendon lets out a shaky sigh and turns back to his paper. Then he starts tapping his pencil against the desk, and the kid next to him kicks the leg of his desk to shut him up. Then he starts tapping his foot on the floor and someone tells him to be quiet and then he directs a slow side glance in Ryan's direction. More specifically at Ryan's paper.

Ryan always does his writing portion first but when he sees the desperate look on Brendon's face, he flips back to the multiple choice section and starts filling out the bubbles, pushing the paper so Brendon can clearly see it.

They work like that for a while, Ryan filling out his answers and Brendon blatantly copying off of him, dark side glances out of the corner of his eye helped by Ryan leaning over to work on the side of his desk, obviously not covering up his work. They're both so distracted by what they're doing that neither of them notice that their teacher is hovering over them, watching their every move.

"Brendon and George, go to the office right now!" Brendon snaps his head up, panicked, and Ryan breaks the tip of his pencil against the paper. Everyone in the class has fallen dead silent and Brendon shoves his desk forward as he stands up, full of red hot anger, eyes focused directly on the teacher, who's standing closer to them than Ryan has last remembered. "Cheating on a test. Disgraceful. Zeroes for both of you." Ryan's heart sinks. Everyone is staring at him and Brendon but Brendon doesn't care, it doesn't matter so much to him, and as Ryan follows him out into the hallway, he feels his breath catching and his hands are shaking and this is all fucking Brendon's fault, but Ryan would still do anything to get him an A.

This isn't fucking fair.


	8. Chapter 8

Ryan has never been to the principal's office before. He's a good kid, had never been caught up in any of the bad drama, and though his life is uneventful at least he hasn't gotten to know the administration of his school on a personal level.

Brendon can't say the same.

It's not like he's gotten caught vaping in the bathrooms or sneaking out of school to go buy donuts and coffee during his free block, and it's not like he's told the class to turn all of their desks around to face the back of the room while the teacher left the room for a second and to sit quietly once she came back, and it's not like he's used 'vulgar language' on multiple occasions during class conversation and he honestly hasn't thrown slime at his teacher.

Not at all.

So Brendon might be a little closer with the administration than Ryan is but Ryan's sort of having a mini panic attack and refuses to walk down the hall, even though Brendon is practically begging him to follow him down the hall. Brendon has the idea that maybe, just maybe, they could head out the doors one class down from their english room and casually miss the rest of the school day but Ryan obviously has other ideas in mind, such as standing there shaking and telling Brendon that he can't get in trouble.

"Ryan, we can go, dude, she's gonna be out here any-"

"Boys." Their teacher, Mrs. Dickinson, is stood a glowering figure in the doorway. Ryan stares at her with wide, pathetic eyes. "Let me walk you down to the office." Brendon's face is now a mask, completely unreadable, and he starts walking down the hallway towards the main office with Ryan trailing behind him, their teacher prowling in the background.

Brendon keeps glancing over at Ryan as they walk down the hall, his eyes worried. Finally, they reach the main office and are left to their own devices, just under the eyes of a watchful secretary. Once their teacher leaves them to get back to class, Brendon turns to Ryan, who's busy shaking like he's falling apart.

"Hey- it's no big deal, I've been in trouble like a million times."

"It's a mark on my record." Ryan gasps out. His knees are bouncing wildly and he's just shaking and Brendon doesn't seem to know what to do, a very uncertain expression on his face.

"You do know that permanent records aren't a thing, right?" Ryan doesn't reply because he's too busy being upset, shaking and sweating and feeling like his heart is burning but this isn't like a love kind of way, this is a horrible kind of way and Brendon is side glancing at him again, looking oddly upset. "Ryan, it's gonna be fine. The most we can get is, like, detention. At most." Ryan still doesn't reply, his eyes focused on Brendon's rapidly bouncing knee. If he's so calm about this then why is his knee bouncing like there's an earthquake ripping through the room?

Ryan's sweating and shaking and really having the time of his life in the midst of a dawning panic attack, wondering why whoever is about to dish out their punishment is taking so fucking long to show up and talk to them.

"Let me do the talking, okay?" Brendon says, his eyes focused on the hallway that leads to the principal's office. Ryan doesn't reply and just stares at his hands, thinking about his lungs. An odd thing to think about, but it's somehow comforting to imagine the oxygen being taken in and spread through his blood and to his brain and carbon dioxide coming out and everything just working together in a nice sense of unison that keeps him there, for the most part, and alive, for the most part, and then the principal is there.

The assistant principal.

Ryan doesn't know why but it feels a lot less of a big deal to be talking to the assistant principal instead of the real principal, who's a bald fool who looks like a thumb. The assistant principal always wears hoodies and sounds like he's got a permanent cold but he seems more calm, in a way, and has a massive bag of cheetos sitting on his desk. Ryan and Brendon take the seats across from his desk, and Ryan doesn't really feel in the mood for making eye contact with him.

"Ryan, Brendon." He says, burying the cheetos in a random desk drawer and adjusting the name placard on his desk. It reads "SCOTT" in all capital letters. Ryan doesn't know if his last name is Scott or his first name is Scott, and although he really couldn't give a shit, he finds himself ridiculously fixated on that one idea.

While Ryan is slumped over and staring quite intently at Scott's name card, Brendon is sat up straight, clear eyes focused on Scott's. The only thing that gives him away is the tapping of his foot.

"So." Scott sighs, and looks at them. "Cheating. Brendon, you copied basically Ryan's entire test." Brendon nods and Ryan remains in his hunched over position.

"I did."

"You did." The silence is almost comical, Scott really couldn't give less of a shit about them, and Ryan's expecting him to prop his feet up on his desk at any moment.

"Yeah, well, I have an IEP and my english teacher didn't let me go to the ESR and in my moment of desperation, I copied off of Ryan. Entirely my fault. Ryan had no idea what was happening."

"Is that true, Ryan?" Scott asks and, well, shit. Ryan doesn't like lying and this is a prime lying moment. He had been perfectly aware that Brendon had been cheating off of him, Ryan had wanted Brendon to cheat off of him. That's exactly what he had wanted, because he wanted to help Brendon.

Because he's fucking desperate.

"I didn't know he was cheating." Ryan croaks in a hoarse voice, sitting back up. "I never would have given him my answers." Brendon makes solemn eye contact with Ryan for a second and then flicks his eyes back to Scott, who's moving his gaze back and forth between the two of them.

"So what's your IEP for?" He asks Brendon.

"Dyslexia." Well doesn't that make sense. Their conversation continues while Ryan manages to put all the messy pieces together inside his head while he's still sat weirdly, half slumped over, wishing this could all be over, wishing him and Brendon could just like run off into the sunset together, somehow, though it's only nine in the morning and Ryan doesn't care isn't even listening at all anymore. Now he's being insensitive and wondering how horrible it must be to not be able to read or understand words properly, how much effort Brendon probably has to put in just to get a few clear words across, and it all makes so much sense and now Ryan isn't even sure if he minds being used anymore. No, he doesn't. He'd let himself be used by Brendon any day.

When Ryan tunes back in to the conversation, Scott is mentioning how even though Brendon should have gone to the ESR to have the test read to him, he decided to cheat off of someone anyways. Which hardly relates to Ryan who feels a bit like puking everywhere and Brendon's calm face turns an even more solemn shade of serious when detention is brought up and Ryan feels sick when the idea of Brendon getting in big trouble actually seems real.

"I let him cheat off me." Chokes out Ryan, and Brendon sighs out loud like he doesn't even want Ryan to say that. Scott rubs a hand over his face and leans back in his chair while Ryan sits further forward, wondering if giving up his sorry ass for Brendon is going to have any positive results for either of them.

"So you just lied to me." Scott says, and Ryan is honestly going to throw up, he is, and then Brendon's hand touches his. Really slow. Really soft. Really hardly there but Brendon's hand is against Ryan's, holding it, and suddenly this doesn't feel bad anymore. And the pukey feeling triples. And the pukey feeling becomes more just like puke and yeah, Ryan pukes all over the assistant principal's floor. And Brendon's shoes.

\--

"Hey." Ryan's sitting on these steps outside the school, maybe waiting for Patrick or Gerard or anyone but Brendon Urie showing up and saying 'hey' at him. So today isn't working out in the least, and Ryan slowly looks up at Brendon, who has an awkward, sort of drawn smile on his face.

"I'm sorry about your shoes." Ryan sighs out, and Brendon laughs, but it's not his usual laugh. He doesn't seem like he's in a good mood.

"It's no big deal. You know, you didn't have to do what you did. Like, say what you said. Like-" Ryan and him laugh together, and there they are, having a good time over Brendon's complete inability to form a coherent sentence and Brendon finally manages to finish it off with a- "You didn't have to take the fall for me." Except Ryan did. And that's the part that hurts.

"It wasn't fair for you to get all the punishment. I just balanced it out." It's completely true but going home seems like the worst possible thing to do, ever, and Brendon isn't acting right.

"Yeah, but... You didn't deserve it."

"Neither did you." Ryan's back to staring at the ground, shaking a bit, and he really can't believe that he barfed on his crush's shoes. Life really sucks. Brendon's chewing at his lip, eyes focused off on something in the distance, and he swallows hard. A car pulls up in front of the school and Brendon recognizes it, and hefts his bag over his shoulder.

"Feel better, Ryan. Thanks again." He jogs down the steps and is barely inside the low door of the car before it speeds off and runs a stop sign. Ryan doesn't even have time to register that Brendon had just said his name, his real life first name when he feels a hand on his shoulder and jumps so hard that he falls off the step and ends up half lying down on the steps to the school, shaking, at the mercy of Frank and Gerard. This day just can't get any worse.

"Pining over someone?" Frank asks, laughing, while Ryan rolls over, arms wrapped around himself, and sits back up against the wall. Frank sits down on the step above him and Gerard sits next to Frank, and they look happy, and Ryan doesn't want to think about Frank making out with some girl when him and Gerard sit so close together and sometimes sleep in the same bed. It isn't fair.

"I threw up on his shoes in the principal's office." Ryan says in a very monotone voice that is met by Frank's hyena-like laughter and Gerard's high pitched giggles. Ryan lets them laugh it out until they realize that he isn't finding it the least bit funny.

"Why were you in the principal's office?" Gerard asks, leaning against Frank.

"Let Brendon cheat off me. We got caught." Frank starts snickering again and Ryan nearly wants to smack him but is too tired to.

"Aww," Gerard coos. "Would you do that for me?" He asks Frank, who looks up at him with a lovesick smile gracing his face.

"Puke on your shoes?" Frank replies, and the two of them burst out laughing again while a very pouty look centers itself on Ryan's face and when the pair of them stop snickering, they notice his downright depressed expression.

"Sorry." Gerard says, and clears his throat. "Were you in major trouble?" He asks, and Ryan shrugs.

"I guess, yeah. We've got detention all week and they called my parents and, well, his parents and we get a zero on the test. Big whoop." Ryan looks down at his shaking hands and pulls his sleeves over them.

"Sucks for you." Frank says, and Ryan nods heavily. "You waiting for someone? We could go some-"

"Don't try that on me again." Ryan snaps in a broken voice and Gerard snickers a bit as Frank leans back against him. The sun is going down and the air is chilly and they all look calm and nice out on those steps, watching the world and living their lives, caught up in their own separate heads.

And it's life.

They're silent for a while, Frank leaned back into Gerard's chest and Ryan against the wall, staring at a tree and focusing on not crying. Gerard notices though, he always seems to see the little things, and clears his throat again before speaking.

"You good?" He asks, and Frank shifts to look at Ryan.

"Oh, Ry, you look like a lost little puppy." Frank says in a sympathetic voice but when Ryan starts wiping at his eyes, the sarcastic expression drops. "Come on, don't do that." He scoots off of Gerard, who's busy checking his phone, and over to Ryan, who's just been having a really bad day. Frank tries to put his arm around Ryan but Ryan pushes him away and Gerard is taking some phone call, making a 'one second' gesture with his hand and disappearing down the rest of the steps while Ryan tries to breathe and Frank just sits close to him, warm and existing and there.

"I just don't wanna go home." Ryan says in this weak, sad, broken voice, and Frank looks at him very seriously.

"You can come to Gerard's place then. I stay there a lot, my parents are hardly home- I'm staying tonight. You can come." Frank repeats in this very calm, very even voice that reminds Ryan of Patrick and he's almost got his emo fucking self under control until he thinks of Patrick, fucking Patrick. He doesn't know if they're even on good terms because they fight so much and Patrick is so on and off with him that nothing really feels stable. Nothing is ever stable.

"Ryan." Frank is saying and Gerard has reappeared looking a bit frantic, eyes wide.

"Frank, if you're coming we've gotta go now. Mikey's friends hotboxed the basement and I have to help him get the smell out before my mom comes home. I owe him." Frank looks up at him and Ryan wonders if that's really what their lives are like. They sound exciting. Frank looks at Ryan and then moves to his book bag, pulls a pen out of a bottom pocket, and scrawls an address on Ryan's hand. He stands up, pulling the bag onto his shoulder in a swift movement, and raises his eyebrows at Ryan.

"See you later?" He says, and Ryan shrugs. Gerard tugs Frank away with a diminishing wave at Ryan, and they speed off in Gerard's car while Ryan sits feeling almost stuck against the stairs.

And then the day gets even fucking worse.

Patrick jogs down the stairs, untangling his earbuds, and locks eyes with Ryan, who's still half in tears. Patrick stops right away and Ryan finally finds the strength to scrape himself off of the stairs, and just ends up leaned back against the wall that he had been sat against.

"Hey." Patrick says, carefully watching Ryan wipe the last of the fleeting tears from his eyes.

"Hi." Ryan replies, feeling almost drawn away from Patrick. His light brown hair is oddly spiky, like someone's ran their fingers through them, his cheeks are red, and he smells like cigarettes. Fucking Pete Wentz.

Patrick scratches at his head and looks around, almost like he wants an excuse to leave. Like he wished that he had never seen Ryan sitting there on the ground, crying. Because someone else can pick him back up.

"How's Pete?" Ryan asks, his voice shot through with sarcasm.

"Great, actually." Patrick shoots back, defensive. Ryan nods, arms crossed over his chest.

"Teaching you all the ways in the book to inactively kill yourself?" Patrick rolls his eyes and scoffs.

"Yeah, totally. Today's lesson was mainlining lighter fluid." The two stare at each other and when Ryan's lower lip trembles, Patrick lets out this long, angry sigh. "I don't know why you have to be such a jealous bitch."

"Jesus christ, Patrick, you initiated this." Ryan spits back, angry and sad and so oddly numb, so oddly unaware of what he's saying. Even Patrick looks momentarily surprised by the way Ryan is talking.

"Alright then. You can go and hang out with your senior friends-"

"And I'm the jealous one?"

"-and be totally alone next year-"

"Shut up, Patrick."

"-and keep drooling over a popular straight boy who is literally only using you to get work done and has no other interest in you whatso-"

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick!" Ryan screams, so wounded, so angry, hating his best friend in that moment. Hating him like nothing before. Patrick stares at him through these bitter, dark eyes and Ryan hasn't even stopped to consider that something bad has to be happening at home and he just happens to be taking out the frustration on Ryan and, yeah, Ryan's just there to be screamed at and it isn't hard to scream at Patrick but in the moment, Ryan hates him.

But he'd never tell him that.

\--

Ryan's honestly about to piss himself from being so anxious.

It'd be a horrible combination for one day, puking on his crush's shoes and pissing like a dog in Gerard's entryway but he really honestly hates showing up at other people's houses and though he's felt generally pretty numb lately, the regular anxieties about showing up to someone's house sort of unannounced have wormed their way back inside him.

He's been pacing up and down Gerard's block for quite a while now, in the dark, in the cold, and he's finally mustered the nerve to walk up to the doorstep. The instant after he rings the bell, Frank flings the door open.

"I've been watching you pace back and forth for the past hour."

"It hasn't been an hour." Ryan protests, stepping inside, rubbing his hands together. Frank shuts the door behind Ryan and walks back into the house without a word, Ryan following awkwardly behind him.

"We've got mac n' cheese." Frank states, leading him into the kitchen, where Gerard and some scrawny little fuck, presumably his younger brother, are bickering. Both of them fall silent when Ryan steps into the room, and this brown haired kid watches Ryan with his wide, impressioned eyes.

"Hi." Ryan says, staring at them.

"Hey." Gerard starts, punching his brother, who snaps out of his dreamy daze. "This is Mikey. He hotboxed the basement." Mikey jumps maybe a foot in the air, a relatable action to Ryan, and glances over at a door that probably leads to the basement. "And our mom is down there right now." Mikey glares at Gerard, his face drawn and pale, and looks back at Ryan. He hasn't said anything yet, and it's all quiet again, until Frank huffs and goes to get a bowl out of a cabinet. He moves over to the pot on the stove and starts filling it with mac n' cheese.

"Beat it, Mikes." Gerard instructs his brother, and shoves him. With a low glare, Mikey slowly trails out of the kitchen, sending nervous backwards glances at the basement door until he's out of sight. All of the tension in the kitchen seems to decompress as soon as Mikey is done, and Ryan visibly relaxes.

"So I'm good to stay here?" He asks Gerard, who nods and pulls out his phone.

"Yup. You can crash on my floor, I guess. No biggie. My mom probably won't notice you're here." Frank nods in agreement, and stars tossing his head back and forth as he paces the kitchen with his pasta as Gerard starts blasting Say Anything.

And it's there, eating Kraft mac n' cheese in Gerard Way's kitchen while listening to classic 2000s emo music, Ryan realizes that he's alright in the moment. He's alright with Frank and Gerard and he's alright not thinking about puking on Brendon's shoes. He's alright. Pretty yeah, alright.


	9. Chapter 9

Ryan comes to the unpleasant realization that he's fucked up big time when he wakes up at two in the morning on the floor of Gerard's warm bedroom feeling incredibly sick.

He's sort of made himself a nest in these pillows and blankets on the floor while Gerard and Frank had cuddled together in bed until they fell asleep, but Ryan suddenly wakes up drenched in sweat and more anxious than he's felt in weeks.

Almost in a daze, Ryan untangles himself from the mess of blankets and pillows and rises to his feet in the hazy black of Gerard's bedroom. The light from the moon outside barely lights up Gerard and Frank, GerardandFrank, in bed together. It's not as though Ryan hadn't been expecting them to be cuddling but Gerard is curled into a little ball on his side while Frank is stretched over him, an arm and a leg thrown around him, head tucked behind his shoulder. Ryan's heart aches when he looks at them, goth and punk and innocent there in the moonlight, curled up together like there's nothing else in life to worry about, not like Frank is kissing other girls and not like Gerard is counting down the days until he gets to leave home, not like things could ever be wrong. And Ryan can't even look at himself in that light and label himself as creepy as he stares at the two of them, so close together, so close. So close. In love.

Something that Ryan will never be.

He leaves.

Jeans and a tshirt turn Ryan's arms red in the freezing night air outside. It's so black and so dark and so cold that he can't even see his breath and all he can feel is the unnatural sweating of his palms and the tight feeling in his throat and the tears behind his eyes that he won't let fall because he's supposed to be numb after all, right? He walks home all alone and can't help but think about life as he paces streets over towards his house under the stark moonlight that can't help but feel some sort of unwelcoming.

Everything feels so black and white, like life, like how half of everything is wrong and the grey parts, the in betweens are hardly there. Neither is the white. Life is mostly black for Ryan who's essentially gone colorblind and can't feel anything anymore but the limitless anxiety stinging inside of him, warping away at his stomach, sweating out in the frozen night air, and his hands are shaking so hard that he can't open the door to his house. Can't fit the key in the lock, can't make it work, and when Ryan drops his key onto the floor through the almost seizure like motions of his hands, the front door opens in front of his face, at three in the morning, this can't be happening.

This can't.

His father is standing there in front of him, in the dark of the living room, and Ryan feels almost guilty when he realizes that he hasn't seen his dad in days.

"Get in here." His dad growls, and his shaking son nearly falls inside the house, his head aching with the foreign feel of warmth. "Where the hell have you been?" His dad demands, and Ryan sees his mom in her favorite spot, sat on the stairs, teary eyed.

"Sleep-s-sleeping at m-m-my friend's house-"

"Not Patrick. We called his dad." And Ryan realizes that they must have been really worried if they called Patrick. And Ryan's mom had slapped him and Ryan just keeps making her cry and Ryan's dad isn't even drunk tonight, he's just tired and sick of Ryan making his mom cry, all three of them are so fucking tired and Ryan starts crying right there, right along with his goddamned mom.

His dad looks disgusted.

"Stop that, fucking stop it. You're being a fucking pussy." Ryan is shaking as hard as ever, trying to wipe at his eyes and not succeeding even in the least. The subzero moonlight had been so much better than this. "Whose house were you at?" Ryan's dad demands of his panicking son who doesn't know for the life of him how to form a coherent answer.

"Juh-Gerard. He's a s-senior." Ryan takes a deep breath and tries to think of Brendon and him on the swings, how invincible he felt in that moment, how the blush on his cheeks felt permanent and how the brightness in his heart could outshine the moon that's darkening his world so much these days. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I-I just think something's wrong and I'm, I didn't, I'm sorry about the cheating- I'm trying, I'm so sorry, I'll be home, and I know I've said that and I know I have and I've lied and I've hurt you and I'm, I'm-"

"Oh, shut the fuck up." The look on Ryan's face is desperation, it's the hopelessness of an apology that won't be accepted no matter how hard he pleads, it's desperation. "Just go to your room, Ryan. Don't ever not come home again. Don't ever. You'll see what happens." There's this cold evil in his father's voice and Ryan feels a bit like dying, honestly, and he moves up the stairs to his bedroom in a daze. Things don't feel real. He's intensely disassociating in his room and sits on his bed next to the frozen window and sits, feeling so suicidal, feeling like maybe he never should have left Gerard's house, and maybe that he shouldn't have even gone in the first place.

None of this ever should have happened.

And then the thought of death comes into his mind, the idea that you just disappear all of a sudden and nothing matters at all anymore and life is just... over, like that, like that and humans can just kill themselves if they want, just like that, and Ryan could at any second and Ryan could die at any second and this is absolutely terrifying, he's going to die, his heart rate could speed up and kill him and that would be the end of everything without even getting to say goodbye, without even making things right.

This can't be happening.

\--

Patrick is sitting on his bed studying for a French test because he can go to Pete's at ten but no earlier. Him and Ryan are being petty again so there's really nothing better to do than study because his dad smashed his computer the other night and his charger got stolen by one of Pete's friends so his phone is low on power and he can't jerk off because his dad took the door off his bedroom so, really, his only option is French work.

Goddammit.

Patrick lays back on his bed and starts reading the script for his speaking exam out loud, dragging the words out slowly in his horrible French accent and messing with the conjugations to make sure that it's all coming out right. After a while of that, the tinged orange bright lights in Patrick's room make him feel sick and he flops back on his low mattress, staring at the bald light bulb on his ceiling until his eyes start flashing different colors.

He's bored and now he's hungry so he wanders into the kitchen, opening the cabinets and the fridge just to be faced with the same awful existence of having nothing good to eat. He considers eating this jelly straight out of the jar but it honestly looks a bit suspect so he settles for four year old popcorn instead. His mom had probably bought it at the store when she was still alive.

Patrick sits on the counter while the popcorn goes at it in the microwave and mumbles to himself in French, wondering how the hell he's supposed to pass this speaking exam and why time passes so slow when he's got something to look forward to. Essentially, Patrick is sitting on the counter thinking about Pete, Pete who he is kind of in love with. He wonders what Pete speaking French would sound like. He imagines them together in, like, Paris, or something. Somewhere decidedly French. Maybe not Paris, maybe some nice field in the countryside, surrounded by lavender and calmly buzzing bugs and warm air and a pink sky, and they're there together, speaking French and being in love.

Patrick is snapped out of his daydream by the door to the apartment flying open. He jumps off the counter, automatically trying to get away from his dad, who storms into the kitchen with a furious kind of excitement.

"Patrick! I finally made the purchase that I've been very excited about!" Patrick stands frozen in place as his dad brandishes a gun at him. A gun. "Nine millimeter Smith and Wesson, what do ya think? M n' P shield! I've been waiting so long to buy the perfect one!" Patrick stares at him, pale and nervous, microwave beeping idly in the background.

"That's... cool, dad. Good to be safe." Patrick chokes out, and his dad nods. He nods and then he points the fucking thing at Patrick, who leans back against the counter and stares down the dark barrel of the thing.

"They used this in San Bernardino..." His dad trails and Patrick is shaking, staring into the dark of that gun, the same model of gun that killed people in San Bernardino and in that flash of a moment Patrick remembers his mom, remembers her warmth, like the French countryside, like Pete, and then his dad is lowering the gun. "Just kidding around." He speaks over a smirk and Patrick can hardly breathe, leaned back against the counter while the microwave starts beeping again. "Turn that damn thing off. We should get rid of it. Microwaves are full of radiation, didn't they teach you that in school? They'll kill you!" Patrick turns around in a daze and switches off the microwave, pulling the half-popped bag of popcorn out of it and when he moves away from it, sort of instinctively towards where he knows where it's safe, in his bedroom, the gun goes off.

It sounds like a loud pop, that's all he registers, and then he sees the microwave is shattered, glass bits everywhere, and everything feels kind of delayed and it's ridiculous enough to think that his dad just shot the fucking microwave while Patrick is standing there with the tips of his fingers being burnt by the steaming popcorn bag.

The kitchen is silent under the fluorescent lights, and Patrick looks at the mess of shattered glass and the shell of the microwave with half the control panel blown up, just sitting there on the counter.

"Clean that up for me, would you?" Asks his dad casually, flicking open the magazine at the bottom of the gun.

"Sure." Patrick chokes, and stands quite still while his dad disappears back into the living room. His dad bought a gun. Patrick's only way of coping with this fear and shock is doing what he's told and that he does, cleaning up the shards of glass and wrapping them in a plastic bag before he throws them away. He cleans out the inside of the microwave and pulls bits of smashed plastic away from the control panel, leaving naked copper and red wires poking through from underneath. Patrick is considering chucking the whole thing out, just taking it outside and throwing the damn thing into their dumpster and honestly, he's highly considering it. If the simple existence of something like a microwave is going to make his dad use that gun then maybe Patrick should burn the apartment and store below down, to see all those maps of somewhere else go up in flames. So even somewhere else can cease to exist for just a moment.

Patrick sneaks back into his room to see a text from Pete saying that "u can cum (;)) (Wtf) now ppl r gone 4 the most part". It's from twenty minutes ago and Patrick can't believe that it had been twenty minutes since he left his room to go to the kitchen and has come back, now, twenty minutes later in a panicked sort of calm because his dad bought a gun. Another text flashes on the screen as Patrick stares numbly at his phone. "trriickckk im lonely pls"

"on my way." Patrick replies, not wanting to give in to Pete's sex jokes about how he's 'coming'.

\--

Pete is waiting outside his house. It's a shitty, run down house that's the crappiest one on the street that leads into town. The street gets lots of car traffic but hardly any people traffic, so Patrick walks along the side of the street with the microwave in his hands.

Pete is all dark and cool sitting on the steps to his house, hood up, hair spiking out from underneath it. He's as conventionally attractive as ever and rises in a smooth motion when Patrick's silhouette comes into view, backed by the fleeting headlights of a car.

It's pitch black outside and Patrick sees the car's flashy headlights brighten up Pete's face for a moment and he loves seeing Pete's face, the shadowed darkness behind the sly grin that's always there, the low eyes, the smug lips.

"Why the fuck've you got a microwave, 'Trick?" The eloquent word choice.

"Long story." Patrick gets out in a creaky and cracked voice that draws a worried expression onto Pete's face.

"What happened?" He asks, moving closer to Patrick, who's holding onto the microwave for some ridiculous reason. In the dark of the night and the bitterness of the cold the two are desperate for warmth and each other and Patrick ends up telling Pete about his dad and the gun and the radiation and shooting the damn microwave and Pete listens carefully, understanding showing through clearly in those dark eyes of his. "Well, smash it." He says after Patrick finishes.

"What?"

"Smash the damn thing. What, are you gonna keep it in your room as as a souvenir?" And Patrick doesn't even have to hesitate before he heaves the thing onto the ground, arms aching from the weight of it, hearing the microwave smash for the second time that day. It almost seems to release its breath along with the two boys' in the cold winter air, and Pete and Patrick are left there, again amongst the shards of glass, and then Pete grabs Patrick's hand like he's desperate for warmth and Patrick follows him, desperately in love and pretending he doesn't feel the shards of glass shifting under his feet.

Pete's house is oddly cold, the atmosphere and the house itself, and so is Pete's room. Much like Patrick's, it's sparsely decorated and feels kind of... weak. It's like Ryan's room, too. There's nothing that explains personality there. Pete's got his bed pressed against one wall with his schoolbag on the floor next to it. There's a littering of crumpled papers, wrappers, and bottles around the floor next to his bed but most of Pete's room is overtaken by assorted weed paraphernalia.

Like, jesus.

He's got one cupboard and it's covered in little orange pill bottles all labeled with what Patrick assumes are different strains of weed, little bits of green bud showing through inside. He's got a collection of weird bongs, some pipes, a grinder, some rolling paper, some flavored rolling paper, some proper filters and roaches, some pre-rolled blunts, a bottle of what probably is thc oil, and a few brownies and rice krispie treats that can only be edibles. All of this is headed off by what isn't at all related to weed but what seems like an entire gallon container of a liquid that closely resembles NyQuil but Patrick can only guess is lean.

"Wow." Patrick says, sort of hovering over by the table. He's smoked blunts with Pete before, but he isn't exactly, well... obsessed with pot. Like some people evidently are.

"It's a work in progress." Pete mentions, following Patrick over. "My buddy Bert got me some premo shit, wanna try it?" And while Patrick is still in a perpetual state of panic, he's also in love with Pete and cold and doesn't want to blow or fuck Pete in this neon, sad room that reminds him so much of his own so he says yeah because it's quality and it's all fine and Pete pulls out what looks like two water bottles stacked within each other from behind the rest of his fancy looking bongs and sits down cross legged on the floor, twisting the cap off of a little pill bottle labeled "DUSTED".

"Alright," Pete starts, watching as Patrick examines the water bottle contraption. "This here is a gravity bong. Not as high quality as my others, but this one gets you a straight up hit. A lot at once. And this bud that Bert got me is good shit, so we want the full experience all at once, yeah?"

"Yeah." Patrick echoes, watching as Pete fills up one of the cut water bottles with water. He dips the other one in and pinches some weed into the tin foil bowl, already flicking a lighter in his hand.

"Here, you take the first one." He says, and Patrick leans over the bong as Pete lights the weed. They watch as one of the water bottles smokes up and after it thickens completely, Pete pulls the bowl off and Patrick takes a breath from the top of the bottle, holding the smoke and air in his lungs. He holds it until he really looks into Pete's warm brown eyes and he lets it all out at once, a very calm feeling moving through his brain and around his limbs. Pete takes his own hit and Patrick gets a few more before he sits back against the wall, hands sort of shaky.

"Wow." He says again, feeling his heart beating hard in his chest. "Wow, my heart is going." Pete nods, his pupils dilated and his face drawn in a low smile.

They just sit in the bright smoke of Pete's room for a while. Patrick starts feeling less like he exists, and the beating of his heart fades off into nothingness while he can't even be bothered to realize that they've hotboxed Pete's room and this isn't how Patrick has felt on regular weed.

Because when he looks over at Pete, his head is really fucking big and Patrick starts giggling and his voice sounds really weird. Pete looks over at him and smiles.

"You, y'look soooo weird!" Patrick exclaims, shaking with laughter. Pete smiles even bigger at him but doesn't reply, and pulls off his hoodie. When he does that, Patrick realizes that it's like a million degrees in Pete's room. Honestly. It's so hot. It's even hot outside. That's probably why it's so hot inside. It's like summer hot. Patrick tries to take off his jacket but it's hard, it's really hard because his hands won't touch the sleeves, it's like he can't touch the sleeves to pull them off and it's really, really hot and Patrick might be sweating or crying or something and Pete is just smiling and he looks so weird, all of him looks stretched and big and a little sideways, even, Pete is sideways. This is hilarious.

Pete doesn't look real, it's like he's got two rows of teeth, like shark teeth, and he's super tall and diagonally sideways and the walls start looking a bit odd, sort of holographic, like there's oil stains on them. Like there's been an oil spill on Pete's wall. It's so fucking hot. It's so fucking hot. Patrick tries to stand up but the room flips diagonal and the ceiling seems a lot closer than it has before so Patrick takes one step and then collapses, hard on the floor, dizzy and out of it and so fucking small.

Pete is still smiling.

\--

It's dark and cold in Pete's room when Patrick comes to.

The first thing he notices is that he's shirtless and the second thing he notices is that he's about to puke so he pulls himself off the floor and stumbles out to the hallway, not knowing where the hell the bathroom is in Pete's dingy house.

The doors he tries leads to two bedrooms and the last door he tries is locked so he supposes that one is the bathroom, so he knocks.

"Hold on!" It's a girl's voice and Patrick realizes that Pete has talked about his little sister, but he can't hold on.

"I'm gonna puke." Patrick moans out, and the door flings open with a confused looking middle school aged girl standing there, toothpaste foam in her mouth and a toothbrush held in her hand. Patrick moves past her and vomits into the toilet, leaning onto his knees as he pukes up a great deal of nothing but stomach acid into the toilet. And Pete's sister just turns and keeps brushing her teeth while her brother's shirtless boyfriend is throwing his guts up into the toilet right next to her. After Patrick finishes, he leans back against the tiled wall and jumps when he realizes it's cold. Pete's sister spits into the sink and then turns around to look at Patrick, who's sitting straight up on the bathroom floor, staring at the wall.

"You've got good posture." She notes, and Patrick hates her.

"Do you have any Advil?" He asks, and she opens up a pill bottle and hands him two of the round red pills. He nods his thanks and then swallows the pills dry, coughing a bit as they go down.

This sucks.


	10. Chapter 10

While Patrick is spending his morning in Pete Wentz's bathroom making conversation with his younger sister and Ryan is riding out a panic attack that's lasted maybe twenty four hours, Brendon Urie is sitting at the hospital.

He's been sitting at the hospital, and he will continue to sit at the hospital for quite some time. And it sucks because he's being treated like he's just a child, even though he's the second oldest. Matt, his older brother, hasn't come to tell him anything. His younger siblings, Caroline, Jameson, and Valerie have been sitting with him all night. Val is leaned against him, half sat in his lap. She's seven, youngest out of all of them, and hadn't even bothered to stay awake. After asking Brendon a few questions about how long they were going to be there and if mom was okay, she had passed out. Jameson, who's eleven, had tried to force himself to stay awake. He had lost his steam around two in the morning, and had dozed with his head back against the wall until the sun rose again.

Caroline has been awake the whole time, sitting two seats away from Brendon, her eyes focused clearly on the wall. Her and Brendon are the closest to each other. They know most of each other's secrets and tell each other what there is to tell. They advise each other and help each other out but tonight they haven't spoken at all. Caroline is fourteen, only three years off from Brendon's age, and a freshman in a private school that Brendon had managed to avoid by promising his parents that he'd go to mass, bible study, and his youth group before and after school every day. When they had agreed to it, Brendon had been so wildly excited to go to a public high school that he hadn't even considered how miserable his parents' ridiculous religion would make him.

And then his mom just had to get pregnant again because that's what Mormons do, apparently, they just fuck a lot and they're always fertile all the time and Brendon's been in so many hospital waiting rooms except nothing has usually taken this long. Except this time, something is completely wrong and both him and Caroline know it for sure. Neither of them just care to admit it.

The thing is, Brendon's pissed. The lights in this waiting room are way too bright and he's pretty sure that he's had a migraine for the past, like, sixteen hours and he's hungry as hell and he can't move or pace around like usual because his little sister is passed out on top of him and his shoes are still sort of radiating the smell of Ryan's puke and he would give anything to just go to the damn bathroom and clean them again and dry them in the hand dryer so he can stop smelling Ryan Ross's fucking guts.

This is too much.

Brendon pushes Val off of him which gets him a look from Caroline but she hasn't had to deal with this, and as his youngest sister wakes up and Jameson snaps out of his dozing daze, Brendo stands up and stretches. All three of his siblings watch him closely as he cracks his knuckles, neck, elbows, back, and knees, and finally turns to them.

"I'm going to wash my shoes." No one replies to him and Brendon storms off to the bathrooms, dirty, puke stained shoelaces dragging on the floor behind him. In the brightly lit stalled restroom, Brendon stares at himself for a good while in the mirror. His skin is pale and breaking out a bit, great, it's a good day to look like the seventh grade acne phase is back to haunt him, and his hair is greasy and looks flat and long around his face, and the bags under his eyes are dark and deep.

He moves in a daze as he takes off his shoes and puts them on the sink counter. He can feel the cold, tiled bathroom floor through the holes in his socks. This doesn't feel right at all. Those gross, stained, beat up white Converse are glaring at him and Brendon doesn't want to think about Ryan right now but he does anyways, thinks about how Ryan's got a wild crush on him and it's not like he's being vain, he can just tell. And the problem is, Brendon likes Ryan. Brendon thinks that Ryan's cute and Ryan is fun to spend time with and Ryan's smart and it's Ryan who Brendon's mind turns to while he washes puke off of his shoes in the sink of the bathroom at the hospital.

So maybe, yeah, Brendon had maybe been using him and gotten them both screwed over which honestly turns out to be even worse because Ryan's in love with him or something, but now Brendon feels bad about it. And he's scrubbing his shoes so hard with a paper towel that he feels like they might just, just rip under his hands, soaking wet and still stained and now smelling like a public bathroom and there's wet toilet paper all over them and this is gross-

"Brendon." It's Matt. Brendon turns around to see his older brother standing there looking absolutely defeated. Brendon tries to open his mouth to ask a question, to ask what happened, to get anything out but he knows what happened. Matt doesn't have to say a word. Things feel like they're shattering right there and Matt just says "Mom is okay" before he leaves and Brendon just... stands. Like a statue in the middle of the bathroom, staring at the grey tiled wall, frozen. The water still running in the sink.

\--

Ryan doesn't sleep again.

When he comes downstairs in the morning to check how cold it is outside, he's caught off guard by the ridiculous sight of breakfast on the table. There's these biscuit things and jam and butter and his mom, sitting there, coffee mug in hand, staring up at him.

"Good morning." She says, and Ryan just raises his eyebrows.

"Hi." He moves slowly to the back door and opens it to a rush of freezing air. He closes and locks the door behind him and creeps back across the kitchen, hoping for a way out.

"I was hoping you could join me for breakfast." No such luck. Ryan's body doesn't really function this early in the morning and it's exactly why he doesn't eat breakfast, but the look on his mom's face forces him to sit himself across from her and take a roll from her plate of them. His dad isn't there. Ryan starts picking at the roll thing while his mom watches him with unimpressed eyes.

"So this cheating." His mom starts, and Ryan sighs.

"I have to leave for school-"

"Why did you let this boy cheat off of you? Is he threatening you? Is he making you give him answers?" The idea is so ridiculous that Ryan is almost offended by the idea of that. No, Ryan just gives up his answers to Brendon without even being asked to. That's how desperate he is.

"No, no, mom. I just... I felt bad for him." Ryan blushes as he looks down at the torn apart biscuit on his plate, and his mom is quiet, staring at him.

"Do you know him? What's his name... Brandon?"

"Brendon." Ryan whispers under his breath, and he hates mentioning his name to his mom. His parents don't have anything to do with him and Brendon. His parents don't need to know about Brendon. Ryan is sitting there pulling apart this roll and blushing his fucking face off while his mom stares at him, knowing, and Ryan glances at the clock on the microwave.

"Well, look at the time. I've gotta go!" He stumbles up, plate in his hand, and goes to throw away the roll. "Thanks for the breakfast, I'll be home on time today, I swe-"

"Ryan." He freezes in his position of rinsing off his plate. "If there's something you want to tell me.... you can." Ryan moves in slow motion as he moves to dry off the plate, but his trembling hand slips on the wet porcelain. The plate drops and shatters and Ryan winces, bending down in a shaky motion to clean up the broken plate on the floor.

"It's okay, Ryan, I'll clean it up. You can go to school." His mom says, coming over towards him, and Ryan knows that she knows and he stumbles backwards into the cabinet, fingers cut on the shards of broken plate. He stares up at her with big, scared eyes and she looks at him with a sort of understanding in her eyes.

"I'm- I-"

"You don't have to-"

"I like him mom, I like him, okay? I didn't know what to do- I don't know what to do, I don't, mom, I don't know what to do anymore. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Ryan stumbles out of the kitchen, grabbing his bag from the stairs and stumbling out the door without a coat on, almost running down the street in the freezing cold.

He's just come out to his mom.

He feels like he's going to puke.

He shows up at school with tears frozen onto his cheeks because of the wind and sits up in the bleachers all by himself, no Brendon and no Patrick, a pit of anxiousness in his stomach tearing him apart. He feels sweaty and hot and pukey, his head hurts and he's a bit dizzy and his stomach hurts, his throat is so tight and he feels so ill, it's the anxious feeling that he hasn't felt for a while, it's come right back. And he feels so much better feeling numb. He feels so much better being sad. He'd take nothing over this anxiety any day, and he can barely stutter out a sentence to his P.E. teacher saying that he feels sick and can't participate today and is let off to sit in the bleachers but before too long, Ryan is tripping down the gym steps to the bathroom.

Inside, he rushes past someone standing at the sink to an open stall and sinks to his knees on the hard tile floor, puking into the toilet. He coughs and spits until there's nothing left in his stomach and he ends up dry heaving, sitting with his legs bent at the knee on either side of him as he wipes around his mouth with his hand. After catching his breath, Ryan leans back and flushes the toilet, wiping his sweaty hair out of his eyes. This is why he doesn't eat breakfast. Or come out to his mom, and the two things mixed together don't seem to work out too well.

"Hey." Ryan sighs out loud and turns around to see Gerard with his eyeliner half done looking down at him. "You good?"

"Never been better." Ryan croaks, and Gerard's expression of perfect sympathy is reinforced. He offers Ryan a hand, who takes it and is pulled back onto his feet. He follows Gerard back to the counter and washes his hands while Gerard produces a little bottle of mouthwash, or as Ryan thought of it, poison.

"I carry it around for Frank." Gerard says offhandedly as Ryan takes a mouthful of it.

"You're a good boyfriend." Ryan says after he spits the foamy green liquid back into the sink, and rinses out his mouth with tap water. Gerard hums in agreement and opens his mouth a bit as he finishes up with his eyeliner. He does it well, and fills in these sharp black wings that branch out from his eyes. Ryan sits on the counter as Gerard applies mascara and then gives himself a sly look in the mirror.

"Do I look hot?" Gerard asks, and Ryan smiles.

"Smoking." Gerard nods, and then smiles, a genuine smile that somehow eases the ever present anxiety knot in Ryan's stomach. As Gerard puts away his eyeliner, he asks Ryan why he was throwing up.

"Well, I was forced to eat breakfast." Gerard shakes his head.

"Breakfast isn't good. My body can't digest too early in the mornings." He states, and Ryan nods.

"I know, right? Well, after I was forced to eat this gross biscuit thing I, like, dropped and broke this plate and then I kinda, well, I came out to my mom, I guess. And then I freaked out and left and it's, like, really cold outside and, like. Well. I just aren't- aren't- I'm not feeling too great, honestly. And, like, Patrick- who, like, used to be my best friend but now is just pissy and we're both pissy but, like, um, we're ignoring each other- well, he switched out of my gym class and Brendon isn't there and- do you think it's 'cause I puked on his shoes? Or maybe he's in trouble? I don't know. Anyways-"

"I've literally never heard you speak more than three words in a sentence." Gerard interjects, and Ryan stops with his long worded sentence. "No, I mean, keep going, I'm just saying I really have never heard you talk. Much. Do you just puke all the time?" Gerard asks, and Ryan really doesn't throw up that often, this week just isn't turning out well for him.

"No. At least I didn't puke on your shoes..." Ryan trails, looking at Gerard's studded black boots. Admittedly, they're nicer than Brendon's Converse.

"They're nice shoes." Gerard says, twisting his ankle and admiring the goth ass boot on his foot. They're in a sort of dazed silence, hypnotized by Gerard's shoes which is broken when the bathroom door slams open and Ryan sees Alex Gaskarth's faded blue hair and someone kissing his neck and Gerard exclaims "you could at least get a stall." The two boys break apart and Alex makes wild eye contact with Ryan and there's popular basketball point guard Jack Barakat standing tensely away from Alex.

"It's not what you think..." Jack starts, but Gerard's condescending expression stops him. Alex has these marks on his neck. Ryan just stares at them. "Just, don't tell anyone, okay? Ryan? Don't tell anyone. Please." Ryan is surprised that Jack even knows his name, they've never even talked, and nods slowly. Alex hasn't said anything, but his desperate eyes still have met Ryan's.

"I won't, I swear." Ryan affirms in a weak voice. Jack nods, eyes moving back and forth from Ryan to Gerard.

"To be honest, no one'll really care if anyone would happen to tell them-" Gerard begins in his lilting voice, god, he knows how to run his mouth, but Jack shuts him down.

"Don't, don't- okay? I don't know who the hell you are but I'm okay without anyone knowing, I'm actually stellar so fucking don't, okay?" Gerard nods, crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the sink. Jack takes another look at all of them, barely making fleeting eye contact with Alex, and then storms out of the bathroom. Alex doesn't follow him.

They all stand in this silence, staring around at each other.

"I've got concealer, if you want me to cover up those hickeys." Gerard offers, and Alex nods at him, chewing at the inside of his cheek. "Well, come here." Gerard instructs, and Alex moves himself over to where Gerard is. Ryan's still sat on the counter.

"Alex, I won't tell anyone." Ryan says, swinging his legs.

"It's not you I'm worried about." Gerard barks out a laugh as he pulls out the tube of concealer.

"I'm gay, buddy, I've got a makeout pal too, alright? He just doesn't leave hickeys like these. Other way around. I've got these wicked vampire fangs." Gerard bares his teeth and laughs as he dabs concealer on the purpley marks on Alex's neck.

"You keep joking about it." Alex growls through gritted teeth, and Ryan honestly wishes that Gerard would stop laughing at him for just this second.

"I'm not gonna out you. I pinky promise." Gerard moves in close to Alex and twists his pinky with his, which results in Alex getting a ridiculously freaked out look on his face. He ducks out from under Gerard and nearly sprints out of the bathroom, the door slamming behind him, concealer half smeared over the hickies on his neck.

After Ryan and Gerard stop laughing about Alex's exit and Gerard's faux creepiness, Ryan stretches his long limbs to hear his back crack.

"You aren't going to out him, are you?" Ryan asks earnestly, propping his feet up on the damp counter.

"No way. I'm not like that." Gerard replies seriously. "Like, everyone knows I'm gay but I'd never go around telling the whole world that Frank takes it up the ass."

"Are you two... dating?" Ryan asks curiously, knowing the path that their conversation is taking, and Gerard mulls over his question.

"I mean, we're like, fuckbuddies... who go on dates, so, I mean. Yeah? I guess." He laughs. "We've never called ourselves boyfriends or anything but I guess it's like that." Ryan feels his heart sinking and the anxiety wave pressure back on his chest.

"Uh, you probably don't want to hear this then, but, like. Um. I was down in the basement near the science hall where Frank hangs out and I saw him like, making out with this girl." Gerard's face pales and he adopts a confused expression that doesn't sit well with Ryan. "I mean, since you're, like, technically dating I guess I just thought you might want to know, I dunno-"

"No, thank you. Thanks." Gerard says, his face oddly solemn. "Who was this chick?"

\--

Brendon isn't in the library again and Ryan sits by himself at one of the chairs, trying not to stare at the one that Brendon is supposed to fill.

He hates having a crush and he hates being gay and he hates everything at this point, he hates being anxious and mentally fucked up and he hates his mom and his dad and Patrick and Frank and books and flowers and-and... flowers.

He doesn't hate flowers.

He thinks about Brendon's sunflowers and the way Brendon's eyes crinkle when he smiles and the way his hair shadows his face in sunlight. Maybe he just hates everyone but Brendon.


	11. Chapter 11

"Oh, jesus christ." Patrick is trailing Ryan again, he's chased him off the steps of the school like the handsome gargoyle again and now isn't taking Ryan's antisocial anger as an opportunity to fuck the hell off. 

"Ryan, come on. I'm not high this time!" Patrick offers, as if that makes anything better. "I'm sorry, I swear I am, I don't know what to say to really apologize. I need you to take me seriously, just, please. One last chance, Ry. I'm sorry." Ryan speeds up his pace and keeps walking like the asshole that he is. "Ryan, please." Patrick sounds so desperate that it hurts and Ryan really can't do this anymore, so he turns around with one last chance as an excuse on his lips.

"Fine." Ryan says in a broken voice and the earnest expression on Patrick's face makes him all horrible and sympathetic. They stare at each other again like they're about to fight, someone's about to say something that they aren't supposed to, but they're just frozen and silent.

"Let's go, okay?" Patrick offers. He really looks properly horrible, these dark drawn circles under his eyes and a hopeless, ridiculously sad expression on his face. His face is the kind that says "I need help", that says "I'm desperate and I'm trying so hard right now", his eyes afraid, his face needing; Ryan's scared of what will happen if he doesn't reply to Patrick. If he doesn't walk and talk with him, where will Patrick end up tonight? Will the sunrise greet him or will be he frozen away somewhere in a world where nothing else can touch him? This is a last stand to Ryan, and it's up to Ryan to say "okay." So he does.

"Okay." Him and Patrick walk downtown together in silence. It's freezing out and the sun sets so early these days that it's somehow already sort of dark outside. Dark and cold; Christmas is now just only a few days away and neither Ryan or Patrick really want school to end for winter break because then they'll be lonely sad boys again and hopefully whatever emo conversation they're about to have will fix something.

Well, keyword being hopefully.

They stop to get hot chocolate because a distraction is necessary and it's too cold outside to not have something heating up their freezing hands during a conversation.

Sat across from each other on the bricks on the top of their hill that's covered in frosted, crunchy grass, Patrick and Ryan sit side by side like it's September again and everything is fine.

"I'm so fucking sorry." Patrick says, his breath a fog in the cold winter air. It's been raining nonstop lately and there's leftover pools of milky white ice frozen over on the ground behind them; Patrick won't meet Ryan's eyes and that's how Ryan knows that he's being genuine. "And don't say 'me too' or anything because I'm the one who fucked up this time, honestly, I am. I abandoned you for Pete and I treated you like dirt but you're my best fucking friend and in the end it comes back to you because I love you, Ry, I fucking love you and I'm sorry that I'm pissy and a bad friend and I'm obsessed with Pete."

"It's okay." Ryan replies quietly, sipping his hot chocolate. "Did something happen with Pete?" Patrick nods and this all makes sense, him crawling back to Ryan is just because him and Pete have had a falling out.

"I think he laced this weed that we were smoking last night-" Ryan's eyes widen when he hears that, smoking laced weed is the last thing Patrick needs to be doing right now "-and, well, like, for context, my dad bought a gun-"

"Oh my god." 

"Yeah. Yeah, he a bought a gun and, well, he, like, shot the microwave and then I had to throw out the microwave and I went to Pete because, because I couldn't go to you..." Patrick's voice wavers and Ryan knows that he would've welcomed Patrick in the black frozen night and kept him warm instead of making him feel so much colder. That's what friends are for. Keeping each other warm.

"Well," Patrick continues after clearing his throat, "I decided to smoke with Pete just because I could and, I didn't want to, like... do anything else and he, I mean, nevermind but we smoked and it had to be laced and I like passed out but when I was tripping in his bedroom and being out of my damn mind, the only thing I could think about was you. And I missed you so fucking bad. And I guess that says something. And I'm so sorry." His bluey green eyes have finally met Ryan's and poor Patrick looks like he's about to start crying.

"It's okay." Ryan says again, even though things could be better. Things could definitely be more okay. 

"I don't know what to do about Pete." Patrick says to the ground, his hands shifting on the cup of hot chocolate that's probably a lot more just like cold chocolate at this point. "I love him but..." 

"But he gave you laced weed." Ryan finishes, and Patrick nods.

"The only real thing I remember was that he was smiling the whole time. He knew it was laced and he didn't even tell me." There's a silence and Ryan thinks that he would smoke Brendon Urie's laced weed any day as long as it made Brendon smile. But maybe he needs to experience it to build up empathy and realize that smoking laced weed isn't fun. "I want to be with him but I can't if he's doing this scary illegal stuff. I'm not a scary illegal person."

"Yeah." Ryan breathes, very quiet. Patrick is the complete opposite of a scary illegal person, he follows the rules and sticks to the laws and does everything so right, so why is all of this so wrong? "I let Brendon cheat off of me on a test and we got in big ass trouble and my parents hate me and I puked on Brendon's shoes so he hates me and everything sucks." Patrick looks disbelieving, but at this point in him and Ryan's sorry friendship, anything goes. 

"You puked on his shoes." Patrick says blankly, and Ryan nods and covers his face.

"I puked on his shoes," he says through muffled hands. They pause in the freezing air and burst out laughing at the same time, sounding oddly like Gerard and Frank laughing together when they do. Ryan's bent down over himself and is laughing to the ground while Patrick tilts his head back and laughs loud and it's so nice to laugh, especially to laugh with Patrick about things like puking on shoes and things of the sort but Brendon's pukey shoes don't matter so much when Ryan has got his friend back and Brendon called him Ryan. Maybe things will be okay. As long as Patrick's here.

\--

Gerard calls up Ryan that night because apparently Frank is at the doctor and Gerard is in a piss spitting mood so he talks shit and shoots the bird with Ryan for a while until he moves the conversation to something that he's obviously interested in and wants the answer to: why Ryan is so pissed at Frank.

"I'm not pissed at him." Ryan protests, pacing around his room with the phone pressed up against his ear. 

"Then what are you?" Gerard replies in his snarky voice. 

"I dunno, he's just..." Ryan's lack of an answer gives Gerard the fuel he needs, and he starts talking.

"What did he do? Did he insult you? Did he insult me? Was he talking shit? Was it dragging you down to that mall?"

"No." Ryan replies with a sigh. 

"Well he must have done something." Gerard insists, his voice loud over the line. 

"He didn't do anything, it's fine-"

"But you're pissed at him. And you're not a pissy person, so I was just confused about why you're pissed because if he's done something then it wouldn't be good, and like, I've been worrying about this-"

"Gerard, it's nothing."

"Did he cheat on me?" Ryan stays quiet for one second and that one second of silence is exactly enough for Gerard to pick up on the answer.

"What?" He screams over the phone, which Ryan holds delicately away from his face. 

"I didn't say anything, fuck-"

"Who's he cheating on me with?!" 

"No one! I never said he was-"

"Ryan!" Shouts Gerard, and Ryan realizes that he's in a really, really bad situation at the moment. For a second, he simply considers just hanging up the phone, but it's really not the brightest idea so he gathers his thoughts for a moment. "Ry-" Gerard starts again in this vicious voice.

"Fine! Fine, fine, stop, he was just... making out. With this girl. In the stairs, near the science hallway whatever." Gerard is very, very quiet over the line. For once. 

"What did she look like?" He asks.

"Uh. Pale, black hair. Kind of... goth?"

"Jamia?" Gerard asks.

"I don't know her name!"

"Okay, don't get defensive! Jamia's a lesbian! Why is my boyfriend making out with a lesbian?" Ryan doesn't reply, and listens as Gerard starts chuckling. "My, my boyfriend... is making out with a lesbian." It sounds like he's about to start Gerard-laughing, the hard, ridiculous sort of laughing that only belongs with Frank.

"I'm sorry?" Ryan offers, and all Gerard can do is laugh down the phone.

"I love you, Ryan. I love that my boyfriend is cheating on me with a lesbian." He hangs up the phone laughing.

\--

"I think something's wrong with me." Ryan has made the announcement loud and clear to his parents, who are sitting at the dining table and, thankfully, minding their own business for once. His dad looks up at him and is probably going to say something genius like- "tell me something I don't know" but instead, he says nothing. Ryan's mom just says nothing. This is working out perfectly.

Ryan is standing in front of them, shaking, wishing that one of those useless adults would just say something.

"If this is about being gay-" His mom starts, and Ryan's face turns bright red.

"No, no! Not about... that." Ryan's dad is watching him very closely. "I, I don't know. It's about my... mind." Wow, he's doing very well. "I feel depressed and, like, worried. A lot, I don't... know.....” They're just staring up at him and his mom is probably thinking that this is just part of the dreaded homosexual agenda. "Okay, well, okay." Still, nothing. They don't even know what to say. "I'm gonna talk to the counselor at school, then." 

"Ryan, if this is for attention-" His mom tries again.

"It's not, mom. It's not." Ryan's voice is weak. "I'm sorry that your only son isn't perfect, but this is life, okay? I'm just.... telling you." 

"Well, thank you for telling us." His mom replies, and they stare at each other in this standoffish, immature way. 

The way it always is.

Ryan feels dreadfully empty the next day, the overwhelming anxiety having up and left as suddenly as it had appeared. He leaves a box of cake mix and a note for Brendon outside his house, staring at the wilting sunflowers and hoping that he'll be at school. Which he isn't. It's become more of a regular thing, for Ryan to be alone in class and never see the guy who he has probably gotten into a fuckton of trouble, and he disassociates throughout the day, only making weak conversation with Patrick and not seeing Frank or Gerard at all. 

Things just feel easier this way. Tuning out. 

It's freezing cold outside and Ryan's sitting in the back of his math class, watching the bare branches of trees bend in the wind outside. They move side to side, almost just waving back and forth. There are no leaves to tug at, none to blow off, just the branches and that's all. Everything's been stripped down to nothing. 

He doesn't know why he feels so bad, so helpless, so lost. Like he won't know the way home if someone spun him in a circle three times and set him outside on the street, telling him to go somewhere that he feels safe. He doesn't feel safe when Patrick's eyes are red and his breath smells like pot, he doesn't feel safe in his bedroom with those frozen windows and dark panes. 

He feels safe when he's happy. In the golden light on the swings with Brendon, in the calm fall air on the playground with Brendon, in the comfortable chairs in the back of the library with Brendon. Somehow it's just that he feels safer with Brendon, and being alive might be embarrassing but at least he feels something that twists his heart around a little bit when he's with Brendon.

The thing is, Brendon's missing.

Alex Gaskarth seems to have noticed this same fact, and Ryan is surprised to see the bleach haired boy drawing up a chair to Ryan's desk and sitting on it backwards like some kind of straight boy imposter. 

"Hey..." He says, starting the conversation on an admittedly low note and giving Ryan a grimace of a smile. Ryan nods as a reply, honestly, he's not in the most... together place right now. "So you know Brendon?" He asks, sounding oddly like Brendon in the way that he starts with 'so you know...' and honestly, Ryan's really missing him.

"Yup." He answers quietly. He definitely knows Brendon. 

"Do you know what, like, happened to him? He hasn't been here for a few days and, I dunno, I'm just kinda worried. I know you guys are, sorta, tight, I dunno, and I knew you got screwed over in English, and me and him, I dunno, we all had these plans and stuff and his parents hate me so I can't, like, go over to his house so I've gotta just... y'know." Ryan stares at him, wondering exactly what words just came out of his mouth. And if any one person in this damn school knows how to put words together. 

"Um."

"Is he okay?" Alex asks, starting to write down some formulas on his worksheet as their teacher wanders over to check if they're doing their work.

"I don't know." Ryan actually does know. Brendon is probably still smelling Ryan's stomach acid from his shoes and has had to stay home because he hates Ryan for puking on his shoes and wait, nevermind, it's fine, Ryan is done worrying, right? He thought he was nothing and here he is, feeling everything, being rude to poor Alex who's just trying to get laid by jocks and dye his hair and live his best life.

"Okay, well. Let me know if you do. Know. Anything, yeah. Thanks. Anyways, you know your weird, uh, goth friend?"

"Gerard." Ryan supplies. 

"Yeah, him, well. Y'know, like, the bathroom situation?" Alex suddenly isn't looking at Ryan while he does his work and is just making this an unnecessarily awkward conversation. Ryan just nods and stares out the window, hating the grey skies but knowing that he'd detest sunshine too. "He won't, like, say anything... will he? I mean, he was acting all weird in the bathroom and I know he's gay, I mean, he is gay, right? Well, anyways, I just know that you and him are friends, jeez, you're friends with, like, everyone, but, like, he can't be a bad person if you're friends with him since you're a good person but I just, y'know, want to be sure that he's not, I mean, going to say anything, not that he would, just like... if he.... did...." The thing about Alex is, people usually cut him off when he babbles. And he always seems to be babbling. Today, Ryan isn't in the mood to shut him up so he lets him go on and on until he trails off, not knowing what else to say.

"He won't tell anyone." Ryan says anticlimactically, and Alex just stares at him blankly. 

"Great." Alex says bluntly. 

"Mhm." Alex stares at Ryan a second longer and then takes his head back to work, figuring equations that Ryan can't be bothered to understand. He hasn't been paying attention in this class for a few months. MGMT is blasting inside his head, and he feels like he's going crazy in the fluorescent classroom, skies so dreary and grey outside, his desk being taken up by some gay loon who doesn't know how to put words together, man, is Ryan living the life or what? 

Things can only get better from here.

\--

Admittedly, Ryan was wrong.

He's sitting in the awkward silence of a lunch table that involves characters like: himself, Frank Iero, and Gerard Way.

At this point, everyone is a little pissed and a little confused at Frank, if it is possible to be confused at someone, and Ryan is sick of sitting here and existing.

"Were you making out with Jamia the other day?" Gerard asks very bluntly, and it's all Ryan can do to not bury his head in his hands.

"Oh, that." Frank replies with a wave of his hand in a very oddly casual fashion.

"Yeah, that." Gerard says, and Ryan wants to die a little bit when a massive, proud grin shows up on Frank's face.

"I was, in fact, making out with Jamia the other day. I took a video and now the Lindsey situation is solved!" Frank sounds way too happy to be describing his time making out with some girl to his boyfriend. His boyfriend who looks sort of ecstatic.

"You did it for me?" Gerard gasps, and this has to be scripted or something. 

"Of course I did! I love you!" Ryan is watching back and forth between them as their conversation escalates, absolutely perplexed. 

"God, I love you too." Gerard says, and sort of falls onto Frank's lap. They hug and then they kiss and Ryan is left staring at them, out of his mind confused about why Gerard loves Frank, Frank who makes out with other girls while dating him in the name of... love?

"Can, do you, does anyone want to clear this up?" Ryan asks, rubbing his hand over his tired eyes. 

"Okay, so." Gerard says, turning back to the table, eyes bright with excitement. "So I have beef with this chick Lindsey, right?" He asks, and Ryan nods, perfectly fine with not knowing about Gerard's beef. "So she's in love with this other chick Jamia, I told you she was a lesbian, and I hate her and Frank here, absolute genius, decided to make out with Jamia to piss Lindsey off so I can gloat over her being angry!" Frank nods along with a bright smile on his face, and Gerard kisses him again. 

Ryan hates his life.


	12. Chapter 12

Ryan wears his winter coat when he walks to school. It's almost Christmas and he'd give anything to not have Christmas break this year. Watching his breath fog in front of him as he walks fast with his hands in his pockets feels lonely, and he glances forlornly at Brendon's house as he walks by it. The sunflowers are completely wilted and layered with frost.

Ryan keeps walking.

He's at school early, like usual, and so is Brendon. So is Brendon.

"Hi!" Ryan exclaims far too loudly, sitting himself down next to Brendon with a bright smile on his face, one that Brendon doesn't hasten to return. "I was worried when you weren't at detention or school, and Alex was asking about you yesterday, like, he was really worried." Ryan glances at Brendon's shoes, thrown off by the fact that he's not wearing the stained white Converse that Ryan puked on. It's nearly comical and Ryan ignores the fact. Brendon just nods while staring at the ground, his greasy hair flat on his head. Maybe there's something wrong. "Are you okay?" Ryan asks, and Brendon shrugs. Maybe Ryan shouldn't have been too friendly. Like Gerard had said, Ryan never talks that much and it's weird to hear him go on and on. And after all, him and Brendon aren't as "tight" as Alex thinks they are and maybe him and Ryan aren't the type that talk about their problems together. But it's not as though Ryan is imagining Brendon looking like absolute shit- he really does. There are heavy dark circles under his eyes, his skin almost yields a greenish shade, his usually fluffy hair is dirty and limp, and he's not even wearing his usual fuckboy attire. He seems empty.

Ryan doesn't know what to say but he doesn't want to walk away either, so he just sits next to Brendon, keeps him company. There's still twenty minutes until class starts and the buses won't show up until ten minutes before class. Ryan gets an idea.

"I'll be right back, I swear." He tells Brendon, who barely looks up as Ryan hops over the bench and leaves his bag to show that swearing means that he will be back. Ryan hightails it over to the cafeteria where he buys a little bag of cookies for Brendon because it feels so unnatural to see him without his cake. And Ryan's just desperate enough to be buying him cookies, rushing back down the hallways to be presenting him with a bag of these shitty little cookies, not even knowing what flavor they are.

"Here." Ryan says, sitting himself back down to Brendon, who barely turns his head to look at him. "You, um. You don't have any cake, so, here's a replacement. It's not the same, but still." Brendon takes the bag and looks down at it as he undoes the knot made of plastic bag. His hands are shaky.

"Thanks." He says, opening up the bag and staring inside. "Are those raisins or chocolate?" Ryan peers into the bag behind him, and he can't say that he can tell the difference at this point in time.

"Um." Brendon smiles an unconventional, out of place smile and takes a cookie out of the bag, holding it up to the light like it's paper money, or a passport. Ryan examines the cookie, really having a difficult time in figuring out if those are raisins or fucking chocolate.

Brendon leans in to smell it and keeps that ridiculous sort of smile on his face when he leans back.

"I still can't tell." Ryan just lifts his shoulders in a helpless gesture, and then Brendon bites into it, the smile still bright on his face as the cookie crumbles in his mouth. It seems that as hard as he can try to stop smiling, he can't help it in the end. Ryan isn't used to Brendon not being lively, and apparently Brendon isn't even used to himself not acting excited all the time.

"It's oatmeal raisin." Brendon announces through a mouthful of crumbs. "Want some?" He asks, the way he always does. Ryan shakes his head no.

"All yours." Brendon finishes his cookie and then turns his eyes back to the floor, fingers working the plastic bag. "So were your parents mad?" Ryan asks, still trying to figure out what the major problem is. Brendon shrugs.

"They didn't hear about it." Oh. Lucky him, then. The buses arrive soon after their final words are spoken to each other and Brendon just smiles at Ryan before he leaves him alone on the bench, not knowing what to do with himself. Patrick wanders in a few minutes before the bell and shares a meaningless conversation with Ryan before he disappears off to whatever class he switched his gym class too.

So Ryan just sits by himself in the bleachers in P.E.- they get a free day and he's not feeling very free.

Brendon's friends are sitting around talking to each other and Brendon, usually the center of attention, sits on the outside of their little ring, staring blankly at his phone. Ryan watches him click the on button on and off and on and off, staring at whatever there might, or might not be, on his screen. After some period of time, someone drags Brendon into the conversation and he seems to snap at them, his face drawn and irritated. There are a few more swapped words and Brendon moves farther away from Josh and company, bag in his arms, and he scans the bleachers to lay eyes on Ryan, perched in the top corner, casually watching him.

Ryan's heart starts beating static as Brendon climbs the stairs slowly and dumps his bags heavily next to Ryan, sitting himself down next to him with a loud sigh.

"What's up?" Ryan says, hesitant and nervous and always horribly on edge when around Brendon, especially after the shoe, puke, and detention incidents. Ryan's already forgotten about Brendon's initial detentions- the ones that he's supposed to be spending in the library after school. With Ryan, essentially, and sometimes Ryan can't even stop to realize that he's gotten so much closer to his crush this year, he's hung out with him, he's figured out where he lives, he's puked on his shoes, and apparently, he's now on first name basis with him.

Isn't that something?

Apparently not.

"The friends think I'm being mopey and dumb." Brendon answers. He's slid down on the step of the bleacher, his legs way out in front of him. "Up for some company?" He asks, tilting his head back to eye the ceiling. God, he's beautiful.

"Always." Ryan replies easily.

\--

Brendon doesn't even chat with Hayley in science. He bends over his desk and does his work, or doesn't, Ryan doesn't know, he just messes around with a pencil on a piece of paper on his desk while Hayley yaps at him while he ignores her.

Ryan misses old Brendon. The sad thing is, he doesn't know what "old" Brendon is. Brendon before whatever had happened, and Ryan can realize now that this isn't about the cheating, the trouble. So all Ryan can do is sit and watch Brendon from the back of the room and watch him walk by the library without a second thought after class is over.

Ryan sits in the back of the library and reads a book like usual, pretending that nothing's wrong and that he can focus, which it isn't and he can't, but it's fine. It's just fine. After twenty minutes of reading the same two paragraphs over and over, Ryan moves to get up to maybe walk home slow because he doesn't know where Patrick's gone off too, things don't feel the same anymore, and he's honestly just exhausted, but Brendon comes in before Ryan can even collect his things.

He practically throws himself down into the chair that Ryan considers his, dumps his bags on the floor, throws his feet up over the leg of the chair, and lets out a loud, angsty, groan.

"I'm fucking pissed, Ryan." He announces, and Ryan immediately drops back into his chair, knees failing him, chest burning a bit from being referred to as Ryan directly and consciously.

"Um. Why?" He asks like a little bitch, and Brendon leans back in his chair, wiping at his eyes. Really, he's gorgeous even when he's pissed and sad. His eyes are this deep brown, even if they're tinged a little red at the moment, his face is wonderful and sharp, his features so warm and well created, like God had spent a little extra time designing him.

Ryan, however, well. God had sort of just thrown Ryan together after a rough night on a pub crawl or something, and Ryan had turned out to be this twinky emo little fag with mental problems, no balls, and no talents or redeeming qualities whatsoever.

Except Brendon is talking to him, which should count for something, right?

"I'm come to the conclusion..." Brendon begins dramatically, the way he always does. "... That God is an asshole." Ryan nods quickly, completely agreeing with that statement.

"I think so too." Brendon nods and stares at his shoes, lost in thought.

"I also think that God isn't real. It's blasphemous, actually, and I, uh, I just don't think I'm going to heaven when I die."

"You're not planning on killing yourself, are you?" Ryan asks, and Brendon scoffs.

"No! No, that's a sin...." He trails off and giggles a bit. "I'm just being sinful in my current life."

"Is this, like, confession?" Ryan asks. "Am I a preacher? Priest? Um, pastor? Rabbi?" Brendon breaks out a smile but then sobers up right away, again, like his insides are telling him to be happy but something is keeping him sad, something about God is keeping him down. Jeez, are they dramatic or what?

"I guess. I just think it's dumb that people pray after someone dies. Like, what the hell is God gonna do? Bring them back? He killed them in the first place- that's a good reason to be pissed! Fuck!" No one else is in the library, thankfully, and Brendon tilts his head back and takes a deep breath while Ryan admires his jawline.

"Did... someone die?" Ryan inquires carefully.

"Yes." Brendon snaps. That makes sense. He runs a hand back through his hair and sighs loudly and dramatically. "Well she wasn't really alive-"

"I'm so lost." Ryan interrupts. Brendon sighs.

"Well she was alive but like, not for, like... long, I guess. I mean..." Ryan doesn't interrupt or ask for clarification this time although he's still not getting what Brendon is trying to tell him. "Y'know. She was like, stillborn."

"Oh." Ryan doesn't have any siblings and has never wondered if his parents have tried to have more kids. They're not the greatest parents anyways and wouldn't have fared too well dealing with two kids rather than just one, but after all, having a sibling doesn't seem all bad. "I'm sorry." Ryan offers, and Brendon shrugs again. He seems overwhelmed and out of it- two things that he never often seems to be.

"I never got to meet her, I wasn't even that excited, and I- I don't even feel so bad about it. I just feel mad about it. My older brother wouldn't stop praying and I was so fucking mad because praying doesn't do shit- my mom's little baby girl is dead and God is sitting up in heaven eating fucking popcorn like our life is one dramatic movie!" Brendon exclaims, sounding so incredibly frustrated. Ryan doesn't know what to say. "God is either absolutely fucking useless or nonexistent. I always believed in Him, but lately..." He trails again and stares at Ryan, who still has his fingers between the pages of the book because Brendon moved too fast to allocate any time to slide the bookmark in. "What book is that?"

"This? Oh. Um. I mean. It's free, it's like, excerpts of the, uh, best selling books of, um, 2013." Ryan's a complete fucking nerd and Brendon smiles at him with an almost forlorn expression on his face.

"Ryan?"

"Yeah?" Brendon pauses. He's shaking and his voice isn't much steadier than the rest of his body.

"Nevermind." His dark eyes move from Ryan to Ryan's chair and then to the ground. "I got your note, actually. I forgot about that. Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem." Brendon nods slowly, and Ryan wonders what's going on inside his head. Having your mom's baby die and then coming to the realization that your religion is a big fat fraud must be some kind of overwhelming.

"I want to hang out with you sometime, again. I like you, Ryan." Is all Brendon says for Ryan to have a heart attack and die.

Metaphorically, at least.

\--

"Hey."

"Hey. Patrick's inside talking to Ms. Morris if you-"

"Oh, no. I need your help." Brendon and Ryan had talked a bit more in the library, an awkward conversation that felt wrong with those dark purple shadows under Brendon's eyes and Ryan's complete inability to talk to anyone normally. Ryan had gone outside to see Pete Wentz smoking on the street, one hand bright red with the cold and the other shoved into his pocket to keep warm. Ryan doesn't exactly want Pete's help but tomorrow is Christmas and he wants to get a present for Frank.

"My help?" Pete asks, flattering himself.

"I want a vape. A Juul." Pete's eyes light up like this is the best thing he's ever heard in his life, and he gets to talking, the cigarette forgotten and burning itself away as Pete lets it.

"Yeah, yeah! They actually sell them at this gas station down the route, if you come and buy something cheap then I can steal one easy as that, with some pods. What kind of pods do you want?" When Ryan hears 'pod', he just thinks of aliens and he assumes that this doesn't have to do with aliens. Hopefully.

"Pods?"

"Y'know, the flavoring stuff." Oh.

"Oh, um. Mint? Maybe?" Ryan ventures, and Pete nods, thank god they have mint. He suddenly becomes aware of the cigarette between his frozen fingers and offers it to Ryan, who shakes his head. It's sad to think about how in the past he would have spent hours thinking about all the toxins that even secondhand smoke could end his life prematurely, and now he doesn't mind at all. Things have become so much less important than they used to. Pete drops his cig on the ground and crushes it with his foot before he turns to see Patrick headed down the stairs, zipping up his worn out jacket.

"Hey, 'Trick, we're off to get Ryan here a Juul, want to come?" Patrick's face turns into one of curiosity and Ryan can't help but feel like things have changed between them. Winter has frozen away all of the warmth that they felt for each other during the winter and even just looking at Patrick, Ryan feels almost more comfortable talking to Pete in that moment. When does one draw the line between best friends and complete strangers?

"I'm grounded." Patrick replies coldly, putting a confused look on Pete's face.

"Still?" He asks, and Patrick shrugs. He gives Pete a look that Ryan can't read before he walks off down the street with his bag hanging off his slumped shoulders, kicking snow off of his shoes as he walks. The snow is starting to come down harder and Ryan blinks it out of his eyes as he and Pete both watch Patrick walk down the street.

"The fuck is up with him?" Pete asks. Ryan doesn't know if Pete and Patrick had discussed the issue with lacing drugs and their relationship in general, and it's not Ryan's place to tell Pete.

"Dunno." Ryan answers, and Pete brushes it right off before they head down the street to the gas station. Ryan buys a pack of gum while Pete is loud and friendly to the workers, commenting on whatever he can find to comment on, and just making a big show out of everything in general. Ryan doesn't even see him take the Juul or pods, but as soon as they cross the street away from the station, Pete empties his pockets with the goods.

"There's no charger or anything, so you'll just have to make one or borrow mine, alright?" Ryan blushes bright, having realized that he never told Pete that the vape wasn't exactly for him.

"It's a Christmas present for, uh, someone else. But thanks." Pete says you're welcome, smiles, and then seems to disappear as simple as that. He says bye, walks away, and is gone around a corner. He walks and talks so easy and lives his life the way he wants, chilled out and calm.

Ryan doesn't want to admit to himself that he wants to live like Head Druggie Pete Wentz, but he kind of does. Just a little bit.

\--

It's Christmas Eve and Ryan is wandering the streets by himself late at night. Snow is coming down hard but Ryan can't see it; he can just feel it. He's numb in the frozen cold, at least he's wearing a coat, and he doesn't know where he's going anymore.

Being at home didn't feel right, but being here doesn't feel right either.

Nothing feels right.

When he passes under the fluorescent orange glow of a streetlamp, the snow shows up as yellowwhite streaks against the sky, like stardust pelting down from heaven, as if it's got any business being on Earth. Maybe it's just passing through and it's heading to a better place soon.

Ryan's so lonely.

For a split second, his desperate brain considers going to Brendon's house but the thought is dismissed as quickly as it had arrived, and a more rational idea arrives. Gerard's house.

Ryan finds himself at one in the morning throwing snow covered pebbles at Gerard's second floor window, hoping to god that the boy will open it when he realizes that a desperate, cold twink is waiting outside his window, hoping for some companionship because as bad as he wants to die and hates himself- Ryan really does enjoy having other people's company sometimes.

That's why he believes that introverts don't exist. Sure, maybe some people don't go out of their way to talk to others but when they do have friends and people to spend time with, they end up missing it if it gets cut off. Humans were made for interaction, and Gerard's front door.

Frank is standing there, skinnier and smaller than his boyfriend, hip cocked and hair streaked over his eyes.

"Ryan?"

"Merry Christmas, Frank."

"You too, buddy."

\--

Really, this is the best Christmas that Ryan's had in a while. They're binge watching Doctor Who Christmas specials all curled up on Gerard's couch sharing Frank's new Juul and all being perpetually dizzy because of the buzz it gives and feeling warm.

It's odd how fast numb can melt into warmth.

"I love you guys." Ryan says, his head lying on top of his arms on the arm of the couch. He can't stop thinking about Brendon. Gerard looks over at him from the other side of the couch and smiles softly.

"You're a good kid, Ryan." Frank is silently wiping tears from his face as he sits entranced by Doctor Who on T.V. The episode ends after that and Gerard starts playing David Bowie which is undeniably gay and Ryan doesn't even think about how odd it is that they aren't listening to pukecore emo music and are just all sitting on Gerard's couch at four in the morning listening to Bowie sing about dolphins on Christmas morning.

And how they could be heroes. Maybe just for one day.


	13. Chapter 13

Winter break is spent alone. Mostly.

Patrick comes over a few times but hanging out is awkward now, it's not the same as it used to be and it isn't fair. Life has caught up to them and their childhood fears have somehow morphed into real life issues and it's not like Ryan has anything to be nostalgic over, but things have just gotten colder, even if this winter isn't as harsh as the rest of them.

Ryan feels a bit like he'd like to sleep forever and dragging himself out of bed in the grey morning light of winter break feels like too much work so instead he lounges around in a miserable depression pit that feels like Morrisey should totally narrate it, like Ryan can think of "how there is another world" that's better than here; he's started reading the Bible again because he wants something to believe in. He wants something to hold onto.

Being an atheist used to be okay.

Ryan never used to spit fire and be daring but he would play chicken with the train tracks and stay out till sunrise doing things he wasn't supposed to and these days he wanders around the city till sunrise lonely in the freezing cold, doing nothing much at all. He used to be content with not believing because he used to believe that lying on the floor talking about nothing with Patrick for hours would save him in the end and maybe he would be the new messiah, maybe saving the world on his own would be easy enough if the flowers kept growing and the sun kept coming up in the mornings.

\--

When school starts again, the sunflowers are gone when Ryan walks to school. Not gone, they're still there, but they're dead and buried in soft drifts of snow. He doesn't want to think of them as dead, so he'd rather think of them as gone.

Lately, he's been toying with the fantasy of Brendon calling "Ryan, wait!" some sort of desperately and bursting out of his always-closed front door with his hair floppy over his eyes and a bright look on his face as he catches up with Ryan, bag slung over one shoulder. They would walk to school together.

The thing is, dreams don't come true and Ryan trudges through layers of snow that blanket the streets and form a whole new slippery ice layer of sidewalk that makes him walk like he's got a stick up his ass and needles in the heels of his shoes.

When he finally arrives at school, early despite his painfully slow pace, Ryan's shoes and pants are soaked up to his knees. He sits around in the front hall, pants drying stiffly, and watches as Brendon appears with a folded paper plate in his mouth and two backpacks. One on his back, one in his arms, and he's got no available hands.

He grins around the paper plate in his mouth that has to be holding a piece of cake, there's pink frosting on his teeth, and Ryan scrambles to go open the door for him. Brendon looks back to normal, hair so brown and cheeks red from the snow outside. He dumps his things on a bench and Ryan pines after him like usual, sliding onto the bench next to to him, glad that things don't have to be terrible and awkward anymore. Everyone needs a break sometimes but Brendon seems unnatural when he takes one. Like how Ryan seems wrong when he comes out of his sad daze.

"Happy new year, Ryan!" Brendon greets, and Ryan beams so big that his face hurts a little bit.

"You too." He answers kind of bashfully and quietly, blushing wildly as Brendon works at his cake with his bags spread out in the space around him.

"How was your break?" Brendon asks, the pink frosting now smeared around his mouth. He's so cute, and that's a weird thing to think about when your crush has got pink smeared all over his face but Ryan would die for him nevertheless.

"Boring. How was yours?"

"Sucked, really. Any new year's resolutions?" He continues, and Ryan hesitates. He had thought about new year's resolutions at midnight when he had sat a sad silhouette in the window, watching one metaphorical year leave and another one take its place. 11:59 and 12:00 didn't make him feel anything. His resolution was to stop being a little bitch.

"Um, stop being... a little, bitch. I guess." Brendon laughs, he laughs like summer exhaling and Ryan can almost feel the sunshine and brightness that he sends out. Sometimes it feels like the sun is shining wherever he walks and he breathes freedom and light humidity and he smells like light and things seem to matter a little less when he smiles.

"For the record, I don't think you're a little bitch. You're not a bitch at all." Brendon says, and Ryan nods awkwardly.

"How's your... uh, religion? Crisis?" Brendon stands up and takes a few steps over to the trash can and then turns back around with a more serious expression on his face.

"The LDS is onto me, Ryan. They're money launderers and put up a billboard in Times Square and they know that I'm a sinner so they've picked out twenty wives for me to marry and I've got six weddings after school today-" Ryan has started to smile, but Brendon continues. "-Then I'm moving out to Utah immediately after my twenty weddings, the thing is, I spent all of break getting fitted for my twenty different tuxes which is why it sucked so much because I needed twenty different suits and shoes and, like everything-" Brendon's started to lose the seriousness and is laughing the way that makes Ryan laughs with him. Brendon's got such a light, bright soul that it honestly isn't fair and what Ryan would give to move out to Utah with Brendon and live together in red rocked dry desert where there's never any snow, never any ugly trees, and they can write poems to the stars.

Well, Ryan can.

Brendon's surprisingly eloquent when he tells stories, anyways.

"Sounds like a chore." Ryan jokes, and Brendon nods jauntily as he sits back on the bench next to Ryan.

"Anyways, after my weddings today, do you want to come to the bookstore?" Brendon asks, and Ryan's immediate answer inside his mind is "NO!" because he's over embarrassing himself and acting like an idiot 24/7, but his new year's resolution swings back around to haunt him.

"Yeah, sure. How long'll the weddings take?"

\--

At lunch, Frank is ecstatic.

"Ryan, your present is the best thing ever!" He shouts as Ryan slowly approaches their table. Gerard looks like he's heard enough of Frank talking about how amazing Ryan is. Always jealous.

"Really?" Ryan asks, sitting down at their table. He's completely forgotten about how he used to eat with Patrick and those Russian girls every day; how Patrick used to wait for him outside of the library because he was so anxious and worried all the time that nothing ever got done and he was desperate and useless. Maybe people drift apart for the right reasons.

"Look!" Frank exclaims, seeming less like a senior and more like a freshman as he takes a drag out of the vape and blows it straight into an empty water bottle. Gerard jokingly rolls his eyes at Ryan as Frank twists the cap on and blows the rest of the smoke around in the air. Then he leans his little body over the lunch table and uncaps it and all the smoke curls out of the bottle like an abstract art forms and Ryan watches, a little bit entranced. "See, he likes it!" Frank exclaims to Gerard, and Ryan snaps out of his daze.

"Yeah, sure. You're welcome." He says, and Frank sits back with a look of pride on his face. When Ryan thought about loving him and Gerard on Christmas while they lay around and watched Doctor Who together, he wasn't just being sappy and stupid. He does love them. He's made new friends, he's evolved, he stole a juul, and now people are even appreciating him. Somehow.

Things seem to be shaping up a little bit.

In math class, Brendon's friends still seem to be treating him cold and it feels so foreign for Ryan to watch Brendon, popular Brendon, Brendon who everyone adores except, for some reason, his friends be shunned by them. Brendon has a halfhearted conversation with them in the front of the classroom, at least, he seems to be trying in terms of the conversation but his friends don't reciprocate. Ryan probably watches him try to make conversation for far too long until Brendon gets pissed, or at least it looks like it, grabs his bag and binder, and drags it all to the half empty table at the back of the room that Ryan shares with the kid who's probably gonna be in the news next week for shooting up their school. Ryan tries to be nice to him, at least. Ryan might not die.

"Hey, Ryan." Brendon says in a sigh as he dumps his bags down and School Shooter (his name might be Trevor, or something) gives Brendon a scathing look and pushes his desk a little bit away from the rest of the table. "Hi, Stone." Brendon says to School Shooter, and Ryan had almost let himself forget that Brendon calls people by their last names. Trevor, or Tristan, or Taylor, or whatever the hell his name is, frantically pulls his earbuds out of his bag and Brendon and Ryan watch as he dramatically plugs them into his phone and then turns his greasy head away from them.

Brendon and Ryan make eye contact with small, knowing smiles on their faces and Ryan can't help but feel sort of connected to him right then. Like maybe they're friends.

"What's up with your... uh, people?" Ryan asks awkwardly. Brendon brushes his dark hair out of his eyes and takes a look at the front of the room where his friends are chatting together. Ryan's always been lonely so he can't even imagine what it would feel like to be popular and amazing and all of a sudden have your friends decide to not talk to you for no damn reason at all. Sitting in the back of the classroom with the emo twink and Virginia's next school shooter is really a blow to one's reputation, but Brendon rocks back easily in his chair like it's nothing and smiles casually at Ryan.

"They're being assholes, you know, the usual." Trevor coughs and Brendon glances at him before looking back to Ryan. "You get this stuff?" He asks. Ryan stares back blankly.

"What stuff?"

"Y'know, the math." Brendon says. Trevor has started to have a coughing fit and Brendon gets up, saying- "I need to go to my locker to get my notes. Wanna come?" Ryan stares up at him, stuttering out yeses and okays as he stumbles blindly out the door after Brendon.

They skip class for the rest of the day and it turns out that Brendon's weddings are being held off until next week because one bride didn't have her bridesmaids dresses come in on time and if one bride can't marry then the whole wedding is off. Obviously.

Ryan trails after Brendon once school is over, although they're setting the bell schedule these days with all the skipping they're doing, and the pair walk downtown side by side. Ryan always likes to pay attention to how people walk.

Patrick walks like there's something squishing him from both sides; he hunches his shoulders both forwards and together and keeps his head down. Alex walks like a penguin or there's a stick up his ass, Frank always walks like he's moving to a tune in his head, Gerard sort of walks like he's floating, and Brendon, well. Brendon walks with a bounce, some "pep in his step!", like he's got something to do that he's excited about. Ryan loves walking next to him. Somehow, it's quite a better feeling than walking next to Patrick.

The winter light isn't golden anymore but Ryan couldn't care less; silver looks good on Brendon too. Anything does. Unsurprisingly, there's no customers at the bookshop and the twenty-somethingish sad looking woman that Brendon takes over for doesn't seem to question why her high school aged coworker is here to cut her shift short in the middle of the day, but she doesn't complain. Ryan wouldn't either.

"So I felt bad." Brendon begins once the lady leaves, giving him nothing more than a wave as she wraps a scarf tighter around her neck and bends her head down against the biting air outside.

"Bad about what?" Ryan asks leaning over the counter where Brendon stands on the other side, unaware of how friendly and natural his actions are seeming.

"Y'know, you left me a note and the cake mix and stuff so I felt like I had to repay you somehow." Brendon messes with a pen on the desk as he speaks. "So, like, if you want some books, pick em out. You can have them. Just- I need to check inventory so make sure they aren't mega popular or anything, but.... yeah." Ryan stares at him. Brendon keeps his head down and seems almost embarrassed, somehow.

"Oh, no, you don't have-" Ryan starts, automatically certain that Brendon doesn't have to do anything for him, ever. No presents, no paybacks. Ryan gives and Brendon takes and that's the way it's supposed to be.

But Brendon stopped showing up for detentions and doesn't ask Ryan for English help anymore. And maybe it's because they got in trouble or maybe it's because Brendon's unborn sister died or maybe, well. Maybe something.

Maybe when they go outside it'll be warm and their grey town that's sad to call home will be bright and alive like there's nowhere else to be. And the sun'll be out for the first time in years, people will smile at each other on the streets, and Ryan Ross will stop considering suicide and Brendon Urie will start considering the quasi basic and somewhat developed human being that goes by Ryan. George Ryan Ross the Third.

"I feel bad." Brendon repeats. Ryan comes out of his thoughts and looks at Brendon's ridiculously handsome face and feels like throwing up on him all over again. "So merry Christmas, I guess? Happy Hanukkah? Uh, have a blessed new year? I don't know.." He trails off, laughs a bit, and they descend into regular awkward silence.

"Thank you, then. So much." Ryan says in a voice dripping with desperateness and genuine feelings. "Um, how many can I take...?" He asks cautiously, referring vaguely to the books.

"Oh, however many you want. Use this place as a library, but you keep the books. Just check with me so I can do inventory." Brendon smiles at the amazed expression on Ryan's face. Ryan looks wonderous and grateful, his face innocent and sweet and Brendon remembers washing his shoes in the hospital sink and sitting in bed late at night; scribbling words down on a piece of paper to examine the next morning.

When the sun rose again and he reread the misspelled and confusing words he had written, Brendon disregarded them because three a.m thoughts don't like exactly count as thought thoughts. And having to quit the baseball team because he was a pussy ass sour fucking mormon might have been embarrassing but coming out as gay would be even worse. And his parents, well. Having one kid die is enough but having to treat another like he's dead is just pushing it too far.

Brendon isn't teasing Ryan. He could never. Brendon likes Ryan. Brendon just can't let Ryan know about any of this. Three a.m thoughts about Ryan Ross and how sinful Brendon's considerations are became serious when they involved things like, god, being fucking gay, which is fine, except it's a bit wrong. The thing is, Ryan does it so well and Brendon, who had been raised thinking that only men and women should be romantically involved, can't see any issue with same sex couples. It's never really made sense. The religion/identity crisis involved most of this, although Brendon couldn't tell Ryan what exactly his sinful behavior involved because it was a tad too homo, and now Brendon's stuck being pissed at God. Because he thinks he may be gay and God took his sister and how can God hate gays if He created them?

Or is every kid who thinks they're gay supposed to grow up to hate themselves and take too many pills or cut up their wrists because the rest of the world doesn't think it's okay to have a high school crush on a boy instead of a girl? Brendon isn't going to kill himself but he's heard the statistics, it's not like he's never seen the news, heard about hate crimes, heard about discrimination, heard about it. How his parents never mentioned anything about how bad it was. Brendon grew up thinking those people would never matter to him. The trans kids killing themselves or the gay kids jumping off of bridges but Brendon's never been called a fag in his life, and he just isn't sure if he wants to start hearing it now.

He runs a shaky hand back through his hair and watches Ryan pick around at the books. Ryan's dark brown hair falls down around the slope of his button nose and his eyes are entranced by back cover blurbs and front cover art. He moves gracefully, places books back exactly how he found them, and Brendon watches his arms, how his shirt hangs off of his chest, his back, his narrow hips.

"Hey, so, I was wondering." Brendon begins, wondering how much he's about to regret this. "They're doing a lock-in on Friday to raise student council money, and me and my friends are going and, um, if you want to join..." Brendon trails off and Ryan looks up with his fingers tucked in between the pages of a huge book.

"What?" He asks like he hasn't even heard, and maybe he hasn't.

"The lock-in, Friday night to Saturday morning...?" Instead of looking happy, or even slightly pleased, Ryan instead looks like he's about to pass out.

"Oh, I- god, I'd love to. Yes. Thank you." It's like Brendon had proposed marriage to him or something, and Brendon smiles coolly at him. There's one difference between Ryan and Brendon. When Ryan freaks out, he does it outwardly. He's comfortable when he's comfortable but is weird when he's weird. Brendon puts on a chilled outer facade, but inside, he's feeling the exact same way as Ryan. He just doesn't know how to let Ryan know that he understands. Feels the exact same way.

\--

Friday night is freezing cold but Ryan's hot and sweaty and nervous when he shows up at school with goosebumps on his arms and his hair tousled from the frozen wind outside. Brendon is inside talking to Jack Barakat and Ryan realizes that this might have been a mistake if all he's going to do tonight is try to pretend that he enjoys company with Brendon's jock friends. He'll have to end up leaving if this is what tonight involves.

Brendons sees Ryan before he can split and breaks into a smile as he walks over.

"Ryan, hey! You pay already?" He asks, and Ryan nods with a fleeting glance at Jack. Jack doesn't look happy. Alex had talked to Ryan privately and politely about not being outed, but Jack didn't seem the type to want to discuss things. The glare that he's shooting Ryan's way says enough about what Ryan should and shouldn't do.

"Hey." Ryan says to Jack, who nods at him. Both of them follow Brendon back past the cafeteria and around down the science hallway to where Alex and two hipster lesbians are hanging out. They're friendly enough, one more than the other, and Ryan finds himself attempting at conversation that seems to move smoothly once it gets going. They all get pizza and otter pops and watch this shitty reality show on Brendon's phone for a while.

Getting bored is easy and they walk laps around the dark school for a while. Brendon, Jack, and Alexa, who's one of the lesbians, are social people and greet friends from different cliques that they find while pacing the school, while Alex, Ryan, and Lynn discuss anything and everything that doesn't involve being social with other people.

Until Pete fucking Wentz sees Ryan.

"Hey- Ryan Ross!" He calls as though Ryan's some sort of celebrity. The six of them stop walking and talking, and Ryan turns slowly to Pete because he obviously doesn't know how to address anyone. Pete is sitting in the senior hallway with a bunch of stoned people who probably don't even go to their school, and he lifts up a red cup with a smile on his face. "You guys want some vodka? Tom brought too much." Some girl next to him starts giggling and Ryan doesn't know what "too much" means, but he moves past Alex to accept the full bottle of vodka that's being held out by a dark haired senior who he vaguely recognizes.

"Thanks." He says awkwardly, nods at Pete, and returns back to his group of people. Lynn is smiling appreciatively at him. They keep walking.

All of the teachers or parents who have volunteered as chaperones have basically locked themselves in the teacher's lounge and aren't coming out anytime soon, they're honestly probably having a massive orgy, so drinking in the school really isn't too much of a big deal.

They stop by a vending machine to buy iced tea before returning to their empty area near the science hallway, a little more energy in their actions than before.

"This night just got a lot more fun." Brendon says, and Ryan can only hope that he's right.


	14. Chapter 14

"Okay, okay, okay!" Alex laughs, waving his hand around. They've been passing the large bottle of clear vodka around and drinking it down with iced tea, wincing and laughing and now they're all a bit tipsy, sat in a circle. Alex is being giggly and loud now that he's had some alcohol in him, and he quiets down their group. "Okay." He says again, putting a serious expression on his face. "Let's play never have I ever?"

"Yes!" Shouts Alexa, bouncing up from her slumped position, looking wildly excited at the prospect. Lynn scoots in closer to her, pushing a hand back through her voluminous brown hair, and their circle tightens up as everyone leans in closer to each other.

"Fingers down?" Brendon asks, taking a swig of iced tea from the bottle that he's sharing with Ryan. Jack and Alex are makeout buddies and Lynn and Alexa have obviously gotten up close and personal so the last pair standing ends up being Ryan and Brendon who haven't made out before and aren't in a relationship and everyone nods at Brendon's question except for Ryan, who's just staring at him in the faint lighting that they're sat in.

Lovesick, apparently.

"I'll start." Alex says, and looks around at them all. "Never have I ever... streaked." Everyone has ten fingers held up, and curious eyes look around when no one puts their fingers down. Alex rolls his eyes and looks over at Jack.

"Never have I ever had sex. Wait! I have! Is never have I ever-" Jack says, and Alexa says-

"It's okay if you have done it." Alright then. Everyone looks around and then both Jack and Alex lower their fingers and Lynn and Alexa whisper quietly together before they too put fingers down. Ryan isn't embarrassed about being a virgin because it's blatantly obvious that he hasn't been fucked. Brendon, however, is blushing and is trying to conceal an awkward smile by downing more vodka.

"I'm mormon, okay? Gotta wait till marriage."

"You're saying that with a mouth full of alcohol." Lynn points out quietly, and Brendon thinks about that before he looks down at the bottle of Absolut in his hand.

"I'm not supposed to drink iced tea either." He giggles, and then says- "Never have I ever broken the law." Everyone puts a finger down, even Ryan. He's definitely been out on the streets after curfew, and has technically shoplifted. Brendon looks curiously at Ryan, who grimaces as he swallows a swig of the vodka. His chest is beginning to feel lighter despite how it burns at the same time and he gives Brendon his best idea of a mysterious smile.

"Unexplainable deeds." Ryan says, and everyone nods like they understand. Laws don't really apply to high schoolers, anyways. "Never have I ever kissed anyone." Everyone's fingers go down except for Ryan, and their faces are all faintly upset.

"That's not fair." Brendon says warmly. "Even I've been kissed. Here." He leans in towards Ryan and tilts his chin up fondly. Ryan can faintly hear Alexa going "oooh" in the background but all he can think about is how Brendon is touching his face, how Brendon's eyes are meeting his, and how Brendon Urie has suddenly just kissed him on the lips. Brendon leans back with a flush in his cheeks and an odd brightness in his eyes while Ryan sits and wonders if he's just pissed himself.

"So the lesbians didn't have to do it." Brendon defends himself, and Ryan stares at him with hot cheeks.

"I'm, uh, gay."

"I know." Ryan feels almost sort of like he's being taken advantage of, and Lynn goes on with the game while Ryan chugs the vodka until Jack snatches it from him.

"Leave some for the rest of us." He says, almost coldly, and Ryan chases the burning in his throat with iced tea while he leans back against the wall and tunes out of the game while he reminisces on certain events that have just taken place within his life. Brendon Urie has just kissed him. Time seems to pass faster when you're slowly but surely becoming drunk. Never have I ever gets boring after a while since no one has any attention span and all of them are either depressed or have ADHD so nothing will last long, and the next game of Truth or Dare starts out with Alex, again.

"Brendon, truth or dare?"

"Truth." Brendon replies calmly, starting their game off in a tame fashion. Alex laughs before he can get the words out of his mouth, choking on them, and Ryan starts laughing too. Just because Alex is laughing. Alexa is stifling giggles and Brendon starts laughing too, Lynn next, and finally Jack relaxes into the chaos of their warm laughter. Alex hasn't even gotten his question out but they're all hot shot drunk off of cheap vodka that a random dude just handed to Ryan and things aren't completely focused at all and Alex has forgotten his question and they all just sit around laughing like nothing is the funniest thing that's ever happened to any of them.

It feels good.

"Are-are sacred mormon underpants a real thing?!" Alex almost screams through his laughter and all of them double over, Alexa nearly in a damn planking position with how close to the ground she is.

"Wanna see?" Brendon asks, and Lynn collapses on top of Alexa as Brendon starts unzipping his jeans and Ryan can't stop laughing, Brendon kissed him and now he's taking off his pants, and this is some kind of fucked up porno dream or something. But it ends just like it started. Brendon waves a dismissive hand as he zips his fly back up and leans back, looking content with some of the humor that he's created. They all laugh out their drunken laughs, Alex's question long forgotten, and Alexa flips over onto her back on the floor. There's a comfortable silence between all of them. Brendon looks over at Ryan, who looks right back at him. They stare at each other but it's less like staring and more like, well, eyeing is what it is and then Brendon says-

"Ryan, truth or dare?" Ryan isn't in a good place to be answering any truthful questions, so instead he opts for taking the most-likely dangerous option of the dare.

"Dare." They all nod, suddenly listening again, and Brendon smiles this wicked smile of his.

"Find us a way onto the roof." Ryan frowns, marginally confused and not knowing how to reply to a command like that. "You heard me. I want to get up there." Brendon's idea is probably not the sharpest at the moment but all of their minds have been worn down and blurred around with alcohol and stumbling around the school roof in the freezing cold at night while drunk, well, it's just a fine idea. Perfectly fine.

"I know." Ryan clears his throat and then repeats- "I know how to get up there. Come on." No one asks how he knows and they all just peel themselves off the floor, leaving their shadows behind so they'll have something to come back to. Unless they fall off the roof in a drunken stupor. They walk in their huge, messy group of people down the dark halls of school, their peers' faces looming in the shadows. But sticking together is safe and Ryan leads them down to the auditorium, moving surprisingly gracefully in the drunken state that he's in. Maybe the vodka is having a sort of placebo effect on them but maybe the alcohol is really getting to them; empty stomachs and fuzzy brains stumbling around circular staircases up into the rafters of the auditorium.

Ryan had thought that they were being quiet but this circular staircase is tiny, winding up and around and around and Ryan's crawling up it on his feet and hands while everyone behind him is laughing and joking as they wind their way up those stairs. It's like life is black and white, glowing silver when it chooses to, and once they get up to the platform, Ryan stops short. Everyone runs into him, including Brendon who's right behind him, and Alex and Alexa are both so giggly that Ryan can't help but smile at the head of their line, pushing his long hair back from his face.

"We're gonna hav'ta crawl." Ryan announces without very much eloquence at all to his words, and Alex bursts out laughing behind him, leaning over onto Jack. When Ryan turns around to look at the collected group of humans behind him, he smiles bright and genuine like he's never smiled before in his life. Brendon's hair is all floppy and hot, his lips pink and drawn back in a smile that matches Ryan's, his eyes dark but bright at the same time. Fuck. Ryan turns around and moves forward, dropping to his knees and making himself as small as possible so he can fit onto those tiny catwalk beams that'll lead them to where they want to be. Behind him, Brendon giggles in a heavenly voice-

"Ryan, get your ass out of my face." Without putting much thought into his response, all Ryan can reply with is:

"Get your face out of my ass!" There's a loud bang from behind them and if Ryan were able to turn around in the darkness to see what had happened, Alex had simply fallen flat down onto the catwalk beam beneath him because he was laughing so hard. They all stop, listen to Alex laugh like a maniac, and then Lynn tells Ryan to keep going. They crawl through the maze of darkness for a while longer until Ryan stands up, Brendon following right after him.

There's a booth sort of room to their left, a ladder sitting on a wall right in front of them, and more catwalks that lead off into neverland to their right. Alex bangs his head on a bar getting out of the small catwalk beams, and he laughs so hard that he collapses on the floor again and scrapes his chin against the ground. Behind him, Jack is the one with the vodka.

Ryan feels a bit like he belongs here.

When Alex scrapes himself back together off the floor, there's a smear of blood under his chin that Jack gently wipes off before he draws his hand back like he's been burnt and looks around at the rest of them, paranoid as ever. Alex's smile barely drops from his face, and Lynn has moved away from them; just a silhouette in the emergency light that's set up where they are.

"What's this for?" Lynn asks, walking into the lighting booth. Ryan follows.

"Spotlights, lighting." He flips a switch on the wall and the room lights up bright with the Christmas lights that the techies have strung around, and Lynn smiles when she looks around.

"How'd you know how to get up here?" Jack asks, almost suspiciously. He doesn't seem like he trusts people, not even Alex. It's weird how he's a jock except he's up here with the emo gay nerds and his fuckbuddy. Lynn and Alexa are girlfriends, probably, and then there's Brendon and Ryan. Friends and that's it, won't be anything more, except Brendon had kissed him on the lips and they might've been drunk and it might've been out of sympathy but it's not fair. He can't fucking lead Ryan on like that.

"My friend.... was on stage crew." Jack nods, still looking defensive.

"Stump?" Brendon asks, leaning back against the wall. Ryan feels tense, like Brendon isn't allowed to say Patrick's name. Doesn't belong in his mouth. The dark space they're stood in is tight and Ryan can smell the alcohol on everyone's breath, feel the tension radiating off of Jack and the drunkenness coming off of Alex, right next to him.

"Yeah." They're quiet for a bit, Jack rolling the bottle of vodka back and forth between his hands, before Ryan asks for it. He swallows enough of it with bitter winces that don't show how much of a pussy he is and hopes that this is really liquid confidence. "We're climbing this." Ryan says, hitting the ladder that's next to him. "There's like, um, a. A thing, an opening, like a trapdoor. It opens out. I'll open it. You guys'll come up, okay? It doesn't lock from the outside, so whoever's out last can close it." Everyone nods like Ryan is Gordon Ramsay and they've all got to follow his directions because he's in charge.

Ryan climbs the ladder first with Lynn's phone flashlight lighting up the black and white world that he's living in right now. A mirage of color standing at the bottom of the ladder is licking his lips and looking hot. Ryan balances at the top of the ladder as he unhinges the latch of the heavy trap door that he barely manages to lift with his skinny twig arms. There's a bang as the door slams completely open onto the outside of the roof, and everyone watches as Ryan's feet make their great escape into the wild unknown.

There's a resounding silence from below as the rest of them stare up at the dark square shaped opening in the sky where Ryan had disappeared to.

"Ry?" Someone calls up; it's Brendon, who decides to climb up after Ryan. The ladder feels slippery under his sweaty hands, and Ryan helps him out, offers a hand at the top of it all and pulls him into this frozen night. Ryan looks beautiful standing there, his backdrop the night sky and a bright look of something almost like love in his excited eyes.

"It feels like I'm being born!" Screams Alex as he climbs up the ladder jauntily. He's coming fast with Jack and Alexa and Lynn watching from from the bottom. "Is this how it feels to be born!?" Alex cries again as he pulls himself out through the trap door. He's moving fast, faster than the rest of them and he's in his own drunken world but nothing's gone wrong yet and if he falls off the roof then they'll deal with that problem when it comes to them but it hasn't come them yet and Alex goes on and on about how climbing out this trap door into this world of darkness feels like coming out of his mother's vagina when he's being born. When he was born.

Alexa and Lynn come up next, one after the other and Jack stays behind to come up last with the neck of the vodka bottle held gingerly between his teeth. The trap door slams shut behind him and all six of them stand there in the cold night air looking around at each other like this is it this is life, like this is where they're supposed to be, and thank god for Ryan Ross. It feels strange; it feels odd for him to be the one who's taking them up there, for him to be the one who's gotten the vodka from Pete Wentz, for him to be the one that's given them the opportunity to give Alex the experience that he's been born again and maybe they've all just been looking for salvation and they found it here on top of the school roof sometime at night. Maybe it's morning, no one's really keeping track but it's okay though. They don't mind. In fact they're content. In fact, really, they're happy. Really. Ryan's happy.

\--

They have to climb up another ladder to get to the top top part of the roof and Ryan would tell them that the view is amazing from up here the view of their city at least but all they can see is pitch black and their breath fogging in the air.

All Alex wants to do is cartwheel around the roof and all Jack can do is chase him around to make sure he doesn't fall off. They're way up off the ground and the view from up here on windy autumn days takes Ryan's breath away. Tonight, his breath belongs to Brendon.

The vodka bottle has been left with Lynn and Alexa and although they can probably take care of it and not fall off the roof (hopefully), Brendon and Ryan decide to lie on the roof and stare at the stars. The stars are okay out here in the countryside and that's another reason that Ryan thinks he wouldn't like to live in the city. Because of the lack of stars and how light pollution blocks them out and how it isn't fair that humans on Earth have been given this planet by god-knows-what aren't able to see the stars that are surrounding them; their own huge galaxy is- is alive and Ryan's alive and it feels so weird to be nothing but alive on that rooftop next to Brendon Urie at night just lying there like it's perfect and everyone is drunk and everyone's having just a good time and Ryan just can't believe it.

Once Alex stops with his gymnastics routine and throws up over the side of the roof, all the glam and glory seems to be drawn back down to earth. Lynn and Alexa are busy making out with each other and Brendon and Ryan lie side by side, listening to Alex wretch over the side of the building. If one of them were to turn around, they would see Jack by Alex's side, making very sure that he wouldn't fall off the roof. Things feel more quiet now, and Ryan feels a bit wobbly as he sits up when Jack and Alex walk back over to them. Sitting in a loose circle, the four of them sit close enough to the side of the roof for Alex to puke but not too close so that they could risk falling.

Ryan still feels drunk but it's pleasant- not headachey or dizzy or anything at all. All he feels is good, like this warm buzzing good feeling that he doesn't want to leave just yet. Him and the rest of them talk while Lynn and Alexa get hot and heavy over on that side of the roof and it feels good to just talk about things; talking about Mattress Firms and school buses and how you wash a fucking school bus which is weird but it feels right.

It feels as though Ryan has finally figured out who he's supposed to be and who he's supposed to be with. He can talk to these people around him and it doesn't matter if they're on the roof of their school or a little drunk or a lot drunk, it's okay and Ryan wouldn't even mind so much if it wasn't okay because things haven't been okay for so long that now it feels a little strange that things are feeling alright.

Alex and Jack move away towards their own corner and in the silence he's been left in, Ryan gets to thinking again about how Lynn and Alexa are making out and Alex and Jack are fuckbuddies so what does that leave him and Brendon to be? Are they just friends sitting next to each other on the roof looking at stars or is God dead because Brendon's going to have to start thinking about it again, how he had to push past the dyslexic bullshit in his brain and to clear out every single feeling he's had about Ryan Ross after his little sister had died that night. How he hadn't gotten any sleep that night and his eyes had burned the next morning and he stayed in bed and did nothing because he felt so awfully and downright depressed because God had killed his sister and it was probably just because Brendon was disobeying Him.

Now, Brendon can't help but wonder if God is really that petty. It feels better to disobey God when you're kissing another boy. So he turns to Ryan and asks sloppily if he can kiss him and Ryan with that long dark hair, slight button nose, the way his bottom lip is slick with the spit of licked lips, the tiny bit of stubble that hangs around his jaw. A real person. A real boy. Ryan either sloppily says yes or doesn't but it doesn't matter because this time they aren't kissing like it's truth or dare or spin the bottle and this isn't a pity kiss, could never be a pity kiss and they kiss like that, pitiless, on that dark roof on a dark night under the dark sun.


	15. Chapter 15

Ryan and Brendon walk home together. It's early morning, chilly, and Ryan's imagining that they're holding hands even though both of them have their shoulders hunched against the unfriendly wind, hands in pockets.

They're both a little hungover and haven't spoken much in their raspy voices. Both are also a little shaky from sleeping on the roof in the freezing cold and Ryan wouldn't believe it if anyone told him that him and Brendon cuddled last night, but they did. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

"So." Brendon says, and coughs. "I think I'm getting sick." He says, and then adds. "This is me." They've drawn up to Brendon's house and Ryan rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet while Brendon looks at his house like he doesn't know what to do about it. Brendon's golden again and Ryan must admit that silver washes him out. He's built to be gold. Ryan thinks that he really does love him.

"Um." Ryan says quietly, and draws a hand back through his hair. "Thanks for inviting me, I, yeah, had a really good time." Brendon smiles at him, almost radiating this soft glow, and says- "I did too." They just stand there, eyes meeting, soft faces that understand what each other's trying to say. "And about, y'know. The. Yeah." Brendon starts, and Ryan lets him find his words. "Us, kissing, or whatever."

"Yeah." Ryan replies immediately, and the eye contact is broken while Brendon looks around like there's something else to see at the moment.

"I know we were drunk and everything, and, like. I mean. I just..." Brendon doesn't know what he's trying to say. Usually so confident, he's falling apart right now and he's content to be smitten with Ryan Ross but just can't get his words out anymore. "I didn't mind it, is all. I didn't mind and it shouldn't be a big deal. Like, I didn't mind. Um. We're friends, right, I don't want things to be awkward and I don't, wouldn't, I mean." Ryan's blushing like an idiot and Brendon turns his head, eyes elsewhere, hand up on the back of his neck, this awkward smile on his face but he's so goddamned beautiful and none of this can even matter anymore. "I wouldn't mind it happening again." Ryan doesn't even think when he leans up and pecks Brendon on the lips like they're middle schoolers or something, and he wants to run away but Brendon's grinning like flowers in the springtime.

"I'll, um..." Brendon's just so, wow. He's so handsome and Ryan's words die in his mouth as he stares at the large, bright grin on Brendon's face, the lines it draws around his nose, the ways his eyes get all squinty and wink at him, the genuine happiness of it. "I'll see you. Later." Ryan says. This is unbelievable. He's completely incapable of ever making conversation with Brendon, whether they're strangers in the empty gym on the first day of school or, or something that Ryan can't define on a chilly near spring morning after they've just kissed each other.

"See ya." Brendon replies in an almost teasing voice; his eyes warm. He turns back towards his house and walks backwards down the front walk and shoots cheesy finger guns at Ryan. Both of them crack up and Brendon turns around and jogs up the stairs to his house with a smile on his face. He looks back at Ryan with a giddy grin on his face. Ryan's got "Someday" by The Strokes playing in his heart and he nearly dances down the street as he walks home.

\--

Ryan finds Brendon at the bookstore on Sunday evening. It's not like he knows when Brendon's shifts are but he's hoping for some company and is vaguely surprised and definitely pleased to see the dark haired boy leaning over the counter, scribbling in a notebook from outside the windows. Ryan can't help but watch him with the reflection of the sunset lighting an arc of pink onto Brendon's face. His lips match the light and a single strand of hair falls over his face as he works on the notebook.

The bookstore has a few people roaming around in it and when some little girl walks up to the counter and Brendon smiles at her and talks to her animatedly as she hands over the money that her mom probably gave her. Ryan watches Brendon's features as he talks to the girl and hands the book back to her with her change and that same old smile on his face. To think that his sister had died.

When he looks up, he sees Ryan standing outside the shop, looking lost and lonely. Those warm eyes of him are so needy, they've always been, and Brendon feels this warmth and longing that feels completely wrong aching in his chest. The wrong feeling like the book he's made for Ryan, wrong feeling like the way Ryan looks in the soft bronze light of the evening that's reflecting shine from the streaks of rain that are left behind on the street. This isn't what Brendon had planned.

But he still smiles at Ryan like it's nothing and casually gestures at him to come inside. He deals with another customer while the bell on the door rings in the back of Brendon's head, and he looks up to see Ryan standing at the counter in front of him, looking like he belongs right there.

It's just. Sinful. It's not right to look at Ryan like that. Brendon just can't help himself.

"Hey." It's literally the sluttiest word that's ever left Ryan Ross's mouth and Brendon feels a bit like he's floating above the wooden floorboards. These strung up Christmas lights can't come close to the feeling of flowers blooming through ticker tape and the smile that can't help itself showing on his face match drum beats and ringing guitar riffs- for once in his life, Brendon has nothing to say.

"Wanna, um, keep me company? I've got, like, maybe twenty minutes left of my shift." Ryan nods and moves behind the counter, full of this kind of confidence that Brendon's never seen before. Ryan leans back against the wall and looks calm there surrounded by books with the fairy lights lighting him up and Brendon feels sort of awkward with this weird Ryan behind him, watching him. Like he's got to do something to impress him somehow.

So twenty minutes later they're out on the spring warm streets, walking nowhere.

"I love spring." Ryan says calmly.

"Gives me allergies." Brendon replies, still feeling out of place. Like him and Ryan have traded their personalities somehow. And Brendon doesn't want to think about them in the misty green mountains of Colorado with grey skies that show blue when the clouds break apart and a wonderful kind of deserted feeling that breaks them apart and puts them back together perfectly. Second time's a charm, and the Rocky Mountains have been Brendon's dream since day one. It's just, now romance is involved. "Actually, I, uh. Have something. For you. I guess." Brendon stammers out, and Ryan gives him a curious look. "It's nothing, I guess, it's back at home. I guess- wanna come over?"

"Yeah." Ryan answers like he's been waiting his whole life for this. He's definitely been waiting all year. It's sad how fast things can develop just because of Pete Wentz's friends and a bottle of vodka but you move with life as it moves with you and take it as it comes; ride the waves of life up through the Christmas lights and pitiless kisses and down through the deaths and the midnight frozen walks through the emptiest streets on earth. You made it there and you make it here. You're here. You make it to the sunflower house, Brendon Urie's house, the house that's always been the brightest one on the block, even when winter snow dimmed it down, even when a candlelight of life burns out.

We'll make it.

Ryan could blurt out something now about how he's got anxiety, or maybe he used to, or maybe he doesn't know what's wrong with him but when he walked to school shaking so hard that his bones were probably sore from rattling around inside his skin, he would always look at the sunflower house and point his head towards the sun and keep it together for one more day. Even if sometimes the sunflowers were wilted under the heavy weight of snow. Ryan wilted with them too, when it came to that.

He walks past them as they move up to the house. The sky is dusky with the calm, warm, after-sunset feelings and Ryan feels like he could cry when they walk by those sunflowers. He lost some friends, made some, lived his life, actually lived his life. He's been so bad until now. He's been a mess until now. And the sunflowers will always be there.

"I love your flowers, Bren." Ryan says, unaware that he's super casually just shortened Brendon's name down into something a little too much like a nickname. Brendon stops when he's almost reached the house, and turns to look at Ryan. In this light, they could live forever.

"I love 'em too." He replies. They stand there and stare at those magic, gold and silver sunflowers that could be made out of every kind of gemstone if it meant that they shone like nobody's business. "C'mon." Brendon says engagingly, and Ryan follows him into that Cape Cod style house that looks so perfect and trim.

Inside, Ryan nearly drops rightfully dead because it smells so much like Brendon.

Brendon individually has the boy smell that mixes cologne and a little odd bit of spiciness that feels welcome and speeds up Ryan's heart at the same time. But his house has an indescribable smell, one that smells sort of like fresh laundry and clean sheets. It's warm and crisp at the same time and Ryan feels like he's swimming in it.

"Hey." Brendon says, snapping Ryan out of his dozing daze. He's talking to a girl who's curled up on the couch with a book between her bent knees.

"Hi." She replies, looking at them over her book. Her mouse brown hair and plain brown eyes are unremarkable, but her facial features are softer but still reminiscent of Brendon's. His sister.

"This is Ryan." Brendon starts, gesturing at Ryan. "And Ryan, this is Caroline. She's a freshman at a private school." Ryan nods awkwardly at her, transported way back into the Ryan Ross Doesn't Know How To Talk To People Days.

"Hi." He says, and she just nods again. It's awkward and Brendon bites his lip and turns away from his sister as she turns back to her book. They slowly climb the stairs without speaking and things had felt so exciting until Ryan remembered that Brendon has a family.

"Mom, I've got a friend over!" Brendon calls down the hall, over his shoulder like it doesn't matter if he gets a reply or not. Unsurprisingly, there's no answer from her and he shrugs before leading Ryan into his room.

It smells like Brendon. There's a messily made bed in the corner, a desk covered in papers and random junk pressed against one side, a dresser marginally covered in more junk on the other side, a Washington Nationals poster on one wall and a Baltimore Orioles poster on the other. Guess he can't make up his mind. To finish it off, there's a shiny framed painting of Mary and Jesus hung right over his bed.

Ryan doesn't know if this was what he expected. He's never really imagined Brendon's room before. Never knew what to expect. But baseball, mess, and religion fits in accurately enough to the picture and Brendon starts digging through layers of folders, papers, wrappers, bags, and whatever else might be in the mix on his floor to find whatever they came here for.

"So..." Ryan says in a voice that isn't his. He wants to kiss Brendon again, at least wants to touch him.

"One sec. I know it's around here somewhere." Brendon's lying on his bed now, swiping all these books behind the headboard around. "Maybe it fell on the floor..." He mutters, probably to himself, and then ducks his head down behind his bed. Ryan awkwardly stands there.

"Why do you have so many books if you can't read?" He asks and then covered his mouth as a laugh started up in his chest. Brendon leaned back up from behind the bed, smiling in an insulted and sarcastic kind of way. The awkward, lovesick trance they've been in has been broken.

"I can read!" Brendon exclaims, sitting back up as Ryan giggles and shakes his head.

"I mean-" He starts, but Brendon cuts him off.

"I'm just bad at it!" He laughs, and both of them fall silent when there's a weak call of "Brendon" from down the hall that shuts them both up right away. Ryan stares at Brendon who stares right back at him without making any faces. No jokes now.

"Yeah?" Brendon calls back after the pause. There's more silence and Brendon pulls himself back off the bed, walking towards the door like he's about to deal with this problem right here and now.

"Keep it down." The voice answers faintly, and Brendon doesn't reply to that. He just looks sad, standing in the eye of the storm of the mess of his bedroom, looking lost and sort of empty because he's not allowed to laugh anymore.

"So." Ryan says, like that can change the subject.

"There it is!" Brendon exclaims suddenly, and leaps across the room to a pile of binders on the floor. He picks up a book from the top of the stack and holds it with both hands out to Ryan; looking somewhat nervous, like he's waiting for there to be a bad reaction to whatever this is.

It's a book. Like, a journal. Ryan opens it and flips through the pages while his heart really just... goes off in his chest like a fucking alarm clock or a fire alarm and all the bitterness and pettiness and jealousy that he's felt working away inside of him doesn't matter so much anymore when this is happening. The book is filled with little seed packets, flower doodles and drawings, newspaper cutouts about flowers and gardening and shit, it's so gay and so ridiculous that Ryan's left speechless.

Brendon watches him nervously with wide eyes and Ryan almost feels like crying.

"I- like, I mean, my mom is so into gardening and all this stuff kept showing up around the house, packets of seeds on the counter and random gardening magazines and shit and I was always being dragged to the garden store and, like, damn, I do love sunflowers but I knew that you did too and you always talk about them when we're together and, like. I don't know, it would have been a waste to just get rid of all this stuff when you love it all so much-"

"Thank you." Ryan says, cutting off Brendon's rambling that reminds Ryan so much of Alex. Ryan's reminded of the beginning of the year, of Brendon and his cake in the gym and how Ryan would shake so hard and be afraid to leave the house and how every street seemed like it stretched on for miles and all he wanted was a sort of warmth and comfort that was so unattainable that Ryan had begun to wonder if it existed at all. The days got colder, guns went off, smoke curled out of lips and tobacco got crushed on the ground. We all consider suicide, sometimes. Everyone dies. Not everyone gets warm.

Ryan's standing in Brendon's bedroom with the most sentimental fucking thing held in his hands. His steady hands. They've always been shaky. This so isn't fair.

Ryan's struggling for words and he knows what he's gonna say, knows what he needs to say but it feels like something's holding him back from this and the book could be falling apart in his hands and Brendon's perfect, sunflower house could crumble down around them and the two of them would still be there. Eternal; standing in the middle of the bedroom. Rest of the world around them.

"I know you, I mean, you already know this, you must and I don't care if you don't feel the same, it's fine..." Ryan thinks about the way wildflowers look in fields when the light is golden outside as the sun heads towards the horizon. Not sunset just yet, just the golden hour. The way the wind can blow them gently. The way the world always keeps on turning. "I just, love you."

Brendon swallows hard. Everything behind him has become blurred out and fuzzed down. He's the main focus in Ryan's vision. The pale skin that isn't too pale but not a dark tan- in between, the defined lips and the chiseled face and the warm eyes that are looking straight at Ryan. Brendon nods. 

He takes Ryan's hand and that electricity nearly numbs him. They walk downstairs and out to the backyard where the setting of the sun has left the sunflowers glowing as they await the next day.

It's chilly outside, but hardly, and Ryan and Brendon sit on the back step of Brendon's perfect house in his imperfect life and look out at the field of sunflowers and Brendon just says-

"Yeah." Ryan looks at the book in his hands. If this is rejection, it could definitely feel worse. At least. "I, um." Brendon's looking for the right words to say this because maybe his mom could have taken the time and energy to drag herself out of bed to open the window and if she hears Brendon's next words then BYU Hawaii won't take him and he won't be buried within the walls of a cemetery.

Fuck that, anyways.

They'll excommunicate him for getting a tattoo.

"I've been thinking it over for quite a while, and I think I might like... um, y'know... guys." Brendon mumbles in a dying voice. Ryan looks at him with the most hopeful eyes and Brendon feels like he might be tearing up when he smiles and adds- "And you're a guy." Ryan's look brightens to a smile and he leans in to kiss this time, he couldn't give a shit if Brendon's sick or not, no, he'd love to get sick from kissing Brendon and they don't make out like it's gross but it's not a quick peck either.

It's a pure, real, honest, kiss.

Brendon leans back with the confidence radiating again, and they're back to the people they're supposed to be. Real time is back but Brendon smiles so happily at Ryan that the love in his heart aches, but not the way where he can't have Brendon. He's got him. His golden boy. Always will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to anyone who read this! its my biggest fic on ao3 by far (away love hahaaa) and im really grateful that people honestly enjoyed it. big thank you from an insecure writer


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